


Snips & Snails

by popatochisp



Series: ~Soft Horrortale~ [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Angst, Bad Jokes, Bara Sans (Undertale), Big Sans (Undertale), Cats, Character Study, Communication, Dogs, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, First Meetings, First Time, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gentle Sex, Grief/Mourning, Healthy Relationships, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Horrortale Undyne (Undertale), Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Independence, M/M, Major Character Injury, Missing Scene, Moving On, Mutual Masturbation, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn with Feelings, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Queen Undyne Route, Recovery, Redemption, Regret, Self-Sacrifice, Sensitive bones, Size Difference, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Therapy Positive, Undertale Neutral Route, Undertale Saves and Resets, Voice Kink, Worldbuilding, agency, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: A collection of extras for my fic, Fur a Good Time, Call...!Will likely contain everything from extra world-building to missing scenes to hypothetical scenarios. So far,probablynot totally necessary to have read FGTC to understand, but strongly encouraged by a very biased party (me)!Seventh: PATIENCE- In another life, in another dream...





	1. DETERMINATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How far will Papyrus go to save his brother's life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Referenced violence, light gore (of the skeleton/monster variety), implied permanent injury

The crunching sound Sans’ skull makes beneath Undyne’s fist is far and away the worst sound Papyrus has ever heard in his life.

It stops him dead—him and Undyne both—but by then, it’s far too late. All he can do is catch his brother as he staggers back, collapsing against him with a choked gurgle more instinct than actual pain.

He’s certain of that because he watches bone shards clatter against the palace tile in what feels like slow motion, already dissolving into dust, and knows that this is a wound beyond pain.

This is a _mortal_ wound.

Sans is going to die.

Papyrus looks at him and pure terror sparks a tremor in his bones. The lights Sans always kept manifested in his eye-sockets are flickering, unnaturally. One is already completely extinguished, but Papyrus holds the other as long as he can.

There’s fear behind it, and something that sort of looks like grief, but the thing that makes him feel sick…is the acceptance.

Sans is going to die…and he’s _okay_ with it?

No.

Why? For Papyrus?

_No._

Sans’ eye-socket goes dark.

He goes unsettlingly limp in Papyrus’ arms.

He can feel him starting to fade, his body getting ready to break apart into dust.

“Oh…oh, god, no, I…”

Undyne’s voice is like a bucket of ice water down Papyrus’ spine, but he doesn’t dare look at her.

“Papyrus, I…I didn’t _mean_ to…I’m…I’m so…”

Sorry?

She _sounds_ almost as horrified as he _feels_ , nothing at all like the cool, strong Undyne he always idolized.

She didn’t mean for this to happen. Papyrus knows that.

He’s still angry.

Maybe later, with time and distance, an apology is something Papyrus can accept—something he probably _will_ accept, if he’s honest with himself—but all he feels now is a bolt of indignant rage that scorches him all the way down to his marrow.

Sans is dying, his infuriating, lazy, lovable big brother is dying _in his arms_ at the hands of his best friend, and that’s…that’s really all he gets? ‘Sorry’?

He can’t accept it.

He can’t accept _anything_ about this.

This isn’t right, this isn’t fair, it _can’t_ play out like this…

And he won’t _let_ it.

Sans is _not_ dying, not today.

Faster than thought, he yanks his brother’s soul out of his rib-cage. He hears Undyne gasp and thinks maybe he’ll be a little abashed at himself later for doing something so _very_ not done publicly, but he doesn’t care much for propriety at the moment.

The guttering light of Sans’ soul is all he needs to see to know he’s doing the right thing.

With barely any conscious effort, his magic goes green and starts flooding into the frail, flickering soul in his hand.

“Papyrus…that’s…” Undyne’s voice is very small and very sad as she says, “That’s not gonna work…”

He knows.

Even with all the love and healing intent he can muster, everything he _has_ , he’s just barely keeping Sans’ HP in the decimals. His brother’s body is actively trying to die and he can’t stop it this way, only prolong the inevitable a little bit longer.

But a little bit longer is all he needs.

Papyrus scoops Sans up against his chest and Looks at the floor beneath his feet.

It only takes a second to find what he’s looking for…and he slides straight down through it.

Not many monsters can do the things Papyrus can do.

Even his secretive brother with his mysterious ‘shortcuts’ hadn’t fully understood when he tried to explain once, about Layers.

The seams of the world that apparently only he could see.

Conventional physics had long since ceased to mean anything to Papyrus. When the building blocks of reality itself were laid out in front of you, you could walk on air, dive through walls, get places no one else seemed to be able to get to…it was easy!

If he went at it from the right angle, he could do _anything._

Only one barrier had ever stopped him, the deservedly capitalized one, but it wasn’t The Barrier he needed to get through right now.

Papyrus just needed to get to the Royal Labs, the _real_ ones, down beneath the palace.

Finding them had been an accident, a natural result of his desire to explore, his minimal need for sleep, and his special little ability.

Doctor Alphys’ own…accidents…had been an unpleasant surprise at first, before he discovered that for amorphous and shambling abominations against the natural order, they could actually be quite reasonable.

(Papyrus was very grateful for their apparent immortality, or he’d have been _really_ embarrassed by the panicked bone attacks he’d flung at poor Endogeny when they’d schlorped up to him that first time!)

He doesn’t see any right now, though, as he runs through the dark corridors of the lab. Maybe they’re sleeping, or maybe they’re avoiding him: he hasn’t been by with snacks for them in a long while, not since the rationing started and Alphys…

Well.

Nothing bothers Papyrus in his frantic search, nothing except the thin, reedy breaths of his brother and the all-too-unsustainable drain of his magic into his soul to keep him hanging on just a _little_ bit longer.

He soon finds what he’s looking for.

It’s one of the most difficult things he’s ever done, settling Sans’ lifeless body onto the floor, but he has to let go of him. He needs a free hand for the syringe of DT, glowing almost ominously red in contrast to the (dim, too dim, _dangerously_ dim) white of Sans’ soul beside it.

As much as he can’t afford to, Papyrus still hesitates, right before he does it.

The fate of the amalgamates is…

He doesn’t think he’d wish it on anyone.

But he’s read the log entries, a hundred times over, at least.

It was the concentration that was the mistake. Monster bodies just didn’t have enough physical matter to handle the doses the amalgamates had gotten.

If he was careful, if he was _patient_ …

In the end, he doesn’t think it matters.

Papyrus could never just sit there and watch his brother dust, not without trying _something._

He depresses the plunger, emptying just one tiny little milliliter of pure Determination directly into Sans’ soul.

He doesn’t have to guess if it’s working.

Sans’ entire body _jolts,_ a deep, rattling gasp breaking the silence of the lab and Papyrus drops the syringe in his haste to get back to his side.

He’s shaking, badly, but his eye-sockets are open again and he’s looking right at his brother. Papyrus wraps an arm around his shoulders, releasing his soul back into his chest and trying to help him sit up.

It doesn’t really help.

As much as he seems conscious, Papyrus doesn’t think Sans is actually _seeing_ him. His eye-light—just the one, now—is darting around wildly, filled with all the pain and confusion it had been missing earlier. It starts to bleed Determination Red at the same time Sans starts hyperventilating and Papyrus grabs his hand in his own, squeezing tightly.

Papyrus thinks of several reassuring and inspirational things he could say to him, but before he can actually speak a word of it, Sans passes out again.

There’s a brief spike of panic in Papyrus’ soul…but he’s quick to realize the most important thing: Sans is still breathing, alive and no longer shedding dust from the grisly hole in his skull.

Even if it’s just for the moment, Sans is stabilized.

He’s not dying _today._

Papyrus hugs his unconscious body even as he slumps in relief.

“OH, STARS, THANK YOU,” he breathes to no one.

Only to _wince_ at the colorful burst of agony the words bring.

His jaw…his teeth are _killing_ him and it’s like he’s only now realizing; now that his brother isn’t in such immediate danger of dusting on him.

Papyrus brings a hand up to his face.

Even a ginger touch is painful and what he feels beneath his phalanges…

………

He doesn’t think he wants to see a mirror for awhile.

He can’t believe that Undyne could _do_ something like this.

He’d thought she was…

The betrayal is almost as painful as his damaged mouth…but only almost.

Somewhere between the searing, stinging ache of his jaw and the bone-deep exhaustion of the rest of him—magical _and_ emotional—Papyrus blacks out right there on the floor next to Sans.

For the first time ever, he feels like the moment of laziness is well-deserved.

-

When he wakes, Sans is still unconscious.

It makes Papyrus anxious, his skull filling with horrible images of him turning to dust in spite of his efforts. The syringe, its barrel still filled with DT, is a _very_ tempting prospect.

But Papyrus remembers the lab notes. He lets them be his cautionary tale and very pointedly reminds himself that he _needs_ to wait and see on this.

You can’t spell ‘patience’ without…at least two letters from his name, after all!

(It doesn’t stop him from taking the DT with him when he finally drags himself and his brother up off the floor. He wants it close by, just in case.)

Papyrus goes home.

The Canine Unit sees him, so he knows that Undyne will know that he’s alright, but she doesn’t come visit.

It’s just as well.

She has a kingdom to run and probably a lot of inner-demons to grapple with, and Papyrus has his sore mouth and a possibly-Fallen-Down, possibly-about-to-melt, possibly-totally-fine brother to tend to.

Schrodinger’s Sans—he’d _love_ that joke if only he were awake to hear it.

When Sans eventually does open his eye-sockets, his movements are even more sluggish than usual and he seems to need a lot longer to process the things Papyrus says to him.

Sans is…different, now…

But he’s also _alive._

He’s stable and solid and _there_ , the way he’s always been, for Papyrus’ entire life, and the relief that hits him over that is so strong he could actually cry.

Papyrus still has his brother. They’re still together, for whatever is going to happen next.

They can figure the rest out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I promised one-shots and here we are, the first one! :D
> 
> I wanted to get into Papyrus' head a little bit and there seemed to be no better moment to do than the one Sans couldn't convey very well, what with the traumatic head injury affecting his memory and all. I really enjoyed exploring his character, so I hope you all do as well!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. BRAVERY*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a lot of courage to get naked with your interspecies partner for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: *sex! But other than that, none, it's pretty vanilla!

It was something you’d been wondering about for awhile.

A delicate type of question—the sort that could only arise from a relationship like yours, with such a wide gulf between your cultures, your customs, and even your biology itself—so of course, it should be raised with the utmost care and respect.

You were pretty mad at yourself for just blurting it out one afternoon while watching TV.

“Hey, do monsters…y’know?”

Sans roused a little from where he’d been starting to slump over a little, on the verge of dozing off. “do monsters what...?” he asked.

“…Y’know. Do……sex?”

“………”

The ensuing silence was enough to make you fully appreciate the inanity of your question.

But it was already too late to take it back, so you just…waited for Sans’ response.

“snrk…heheheheheh…hahahaha, oh my god, _babe_ …!”

Your cheeks feel damningly hot.

“I…! Shut up, it’s! A very valid question!”

Sans continues laughing, covering his face with his hand like he could hide the fact that he was laughing _at_ you more than _with_ you.

“yuh…yeah,” he chuckled, “you’re _so_ valid… ya’ gotta know if i can take ya’ to the _bone_ zone, right?”

“Oh my _god_.”

You have a lot of regrets right now.

 _So_ many.

 _Most_ of them about dating this cackling skeleton who has no pity for your embarrassed plight.

…That’s a lie, you don’t regret a second of that.

Just the seconds you spent asking such a dumb question _out loud_ , how insensitive and tone-deaf could you _be_ , anyway?!

At least Sans was having a good sense of humor about it.

“awww, baby, don’t…” He seems to take notice of your humiliation…though not enough to stop laughing. “heheh, don’t, c’mon, c’mere, i’m sorry for laughin’…”

You let him tug you closer under his arm, but you _don’t_ look him in the eye-socket. “No, you’re not.”

Sans snickers unapologetically.

“nah, not really,” he admits. “that…that was hilarious, you’re adorable.”

He nuzzles the top of your head as if to prove it, the gesture full of affection.

Mostly it just makes you feel patronized…and a little indignant, now that you think about it.

“Well! You can’t really blame me for asking, can you?” you demand. “You have the advantage here, I’m human! You _know_ we do sex stuff because we put it everywhere!”

And that was true: you could hardly go two steps in real life or two clicks on the internet without stumbling over _something_ sexual and human-related.

A monster with a human partner, a human crush, or just some curiosity about humans had a whole wealth of studies and images and pornography at their fingertips to answer all of _their_ questions.

“I’ve never even _heard_ of monster porn,” you mutter.

“heheheh, well, yeah, that stuff’s private.”

You frown. “So, there _is_ monster porn…it’s just…for monsters only?”

Sans shrugs a little. “not _strictly_ , but…yeah, more or less so far.”

…You were just getting more confused. “Then how does…how do you share it?”

Your first, hilariously silly thought was some kind of underground information network— risqué monster photos being passed across bars in manila envelopes by monsters in trench-coats.

Obviously it couldn’t possibly be _that_.

But, “eh, i think by phone, mostly,” was not really what you expected to hear, either.

Like…like sexting? Just sending a sexy picture to your partner?

It was starting to sound a little bit like…

“Is monster porn just…individual? Like…one on one?”

Sans didn’t even seem to understand the question. “yeah? it’d be pretty embarrassing for some stranger to end up with your nudes, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t sure what to say to that.

Of course leaked nudes would be embarrassing, that was private stuff…but humans still wanted to look at sexy things? Porn didn’t just _not_ exist because some people were private…

You have the feeling there’s a cultural miscommunication happening here, but you don’t have the slightest idea where to begin at clearing it up.

Sans seems to notice how confused you are and takes a crack at it himself.

“oh. right, i forgot, humans are all…mix an’ match.”

“…Mix and match?”

“y’know,” he explains, “standardized, compatible. ya’ got the same, uh…stuff.”

“No?” What kind of human porn had _Sans_ seen? “There’s _lots_ of different kinds of human ‘stuff’…”

Sans rolled his eye-light. “sure, yeah, but it’s…it’s all on the one spectrum, at least. ya’ could actually cover it all in a sex-ed class, not like for monsters.”

Monsters, who were ostensibly all the same species, but had such a wide array of _sub_ species that they had managed to completely stump human systems of categorization when they surfaced.

You thought of the first monster couple that came to mind—Burr and Audrey, a bunny and a plant—and tried, probably very unsuccessfully, to imagine what sort of things went on in their bedroom.

_Ohhh… ‘Mix and match.’_

You think you’re starting to get it.

At least with humans, there was a relatively limited number of things you could find in somebody’s pants, and probably some sort of guarantee that you could do _something_ with those parts and make each other feel good.

Monsters? They probably didn’t have that same luxury.

You look up at Sans, frowning. “Wait, so…do monsters even _have_ sex-ed if you can’t…?”

Thankfully, your curiosity doesn’t seem to be an offensive topic.

“heheheh, yeah, we have it. it’s pretty much the usual, ‘be responsible and considerate to your partner’ stuff, just no…diagrams or whatever, ‘cause everybody’s ‘different and unique’ an’ that’s something we’re supposed to explore on our own.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You’re _encouraged_ to explore yourself?”

“‘round that age, yeah. gotta figure out your own good spots so you can help your partner find ‘em later, when you’re ready.” The ridges above his eye-sockets crumple a little in confusion. “human sex-ed doesn’t…?”

You scoff.

“Not _enough_ of it. It usually doesn’t even bring up anything besides the ‘default’ sexuality.” The thought gives you pause. “But…monsters, if you’re all so different, do you…how does sexuality even work?”

Your question makes Sans chuckle again. “that, uh…that’s a little broad, ain’t it?”

…Boy, it sure is.

Sans is a monster, but he’s hardly the spokesman for his entire _species._

You feel your cheeks starting to heat again, but before you can apologize, he starts talking.

“far as i can tell, though, humans put a lot more stock into all that label stuff than we do. lots of categories and specifics…think i tried lookin’ it up once, to see if there’s a human word for…what most of us are.”

You watch as Sans pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through old notes, things he jotted down in case he wanted to reference it later.

“oof. this was real early surface days. especially shitty at note-takin’ back then,” he admits. “i got no idea what i was gettin’ at here. mean anything to you?”

He angles the screen toward you and see some strange characters on the screen, jumbled up and indecipherable to you. There’s only two words in normal text that you can actually read, toward the bottom.

‘pan’

‘demi??’

“Oh!” Well, that made some sense. “So, for monsters…gender and stuff isn’t important, you’re just…attracted to whoever you like? _That_ way?”

Sans looks…a little impressed by the swiftness of your conclusion. “huh. maybe there _is_ somethin’ to those labels. that’s…i mean, basically, yeah?”

The porn thing was making a _lot_ more sense to you in light of this new information.

Mass-produced pornography probably wouldn’t have _nearly_ as much of a niche in a society where the majority of individuals only experienced sexual attraction alongside an emotional connection.

You _do_ wonder just how much monster erotica is floating around with fictional characters…but you decide not to ask about that.

There’s a _way_ more important implication in what Sans just told you that needs some addressing.

“Does that mean…does that mean you’re attracted to me?”

It seemed like a silly question. You kind of felt dumb again for even asking, since Sans was _dating_ you, of course he…it should be a given that he was attracted to you!

But…it had…been some time, since you’d first gotten together and he hadn’t…

Maybe it _wasn’t_ so much of a given, if you were this far into your relationship and only just now bringing up the topic.

It feels like the kind of thing you probably _need_ to find out before going any further, even if the thought of a negative answer was starting to make you a little nervous.

But to your relief, Sans slowly turns blue and starts to laugh—the way he did when he was feeling especially shy or flustered.

“eheheheheheheh, i, uh…ah, jeez, i didn’t mean to make ya’ _ask_ ,” he says a little apologetically. “i…i like ya’, don’t i? so…so of course i…” He cleared his nonexistent throat. “yeah. yes. you’re…yes.”

He’s so cute.

Sans reminds you _so often_ of why you’re dating him and with the affection (and no small amount of relief) you’re feeling, you find it easy to say, “Well, _that’s_ good, ‘cause I’m pretty attracted to you, too. Maybe you can show me sometime where your ‘good spots’ are…”

You didn’t think it was possible, but your flirty tone seems to make him blush even harder.

It’s adorable…but just in case that was a little too strong and he’s _actually_ uncomfortable or something, you dial yourself back a bit.

“I mean, it doesn’t…have to be now, or anything,” you assure him, gently patting the arm he still has wrapped around you. “Just…cards on the table, y’know? Thought I should…make it clear I’m interested, for whenever y—”

“how about now?”

You pause, looking back up at Sans.

He still looks very shy, his skull literally aglow with it, but he meets your eye with impressive boldness for such an easily flustered skeleton.

“‘cause…that’d be…i’d like to…do that. with…with you…”

Oh…

_………Oh!_

“Are you sure?” you ask him, even though you’re smiling; even though you can already feel yourself getting eager just thinking about taking this step with Sans.

He’s someone you trust, someone you care about, and most importantly somebody you think you could have a lot of fun with.

~~It doesn’t hurt that you’ve already seen him with his shirt off and _really_ liked what you saw.~~

If he’s ready, then…so are you!

Your excitement must be contagious—the blue on Sans’ face is starting to fade, being replaced by a crooked grin that looks…

“yeah,” he says, his baritone voice so low it makes you _shiver._ “i am…really, _really_ sure.”

Your heart starts to beat faster. “Upstairs…?”

-

No sooner said than done, apparently.

You love having a boyfriend that can teleport because in the blink of an eye, you’re there—in Sans’ room, in his _bed_ while he dips down to you for a nuzzle.

You smile and reach up to him, pressing your lips to his teeth and jaw with an eagerness that makes him chuckle.

You knew it would, just like you knew he’d lean back against his pillows and tug you up on top of him with an ease that swoops your stomach and makes you laugh, too.

This part is nothing new.

Smooching Sans is just as fun as it’s always been, easy to get lost in. The polished softness of bone against your lips is one of your favorite sensations, and his big hands petting along your body, gentle and exploring is pleasantly addicting.

This time, though…there’s something new in it, something _charged_ in the air.

You can feel it behind every kiss and in every excited touch of phalanges, giddily skimming _just_ beneath your clothes like getting to touch your bare skin is something Sans can’t quite believe he’s allowed to do.

You want more of it.

You push forward with your hands, shoving at the shoulders of Sans’ hoodie until the fabric starts to slide. Sans seems to realize your intention and he stops petting at you just long enough to pull his arms out of it, letting the well-loved jacket crumple underneath him on the bed.

Sans looks…different without the hoodie—more solid, more _real_ somehow—and if your fingers hadn’t itched to touch him before, they certainly do now.

You don’t deny yourself the pleasure.

Sans hums happily when you dive back down to his mouth, kissing him even as you start to stroke along his clavicles through his t-shirt. He nuzzles at you a little harder, trying to chase you as you trail your lips down further, past his jaw and onto the thick vertebrae of his neck.

The bony discs are a new sensation against your lips, enticingly strange, and you find yourself peppering more and more kisses along the column of Sans’ throat, trying to commit it to memory.

You only pause when a particularly firm smooch makes him shudder, _hard._

“Not good?” you ask, pulling back a little so you can actually look him in the eye-socket.

Sans isn’t looking at _you,_ though.

He’s flushed again, his red eye-light angled down and to the left— nervous.

“it’s…fine,” he assures you slowly. “i, uh…that’s…maybe……one of my…spots?”

It takes you a second to process…and then you grin.

“A _good_ one?”

Sans’ eye-light shrinks a little. He must remember hearing this tone in your voice before, at least once.

“………go easy on me…?”

_Not a chance._

You lean in and give him another kiss, open-mouthed, and when you drag the flat of your tongue along his vertebrae he _gasps._

You like _that_ reaction.

You keep at it, mouthing at his neck with lips and tongue and the occasional graze of teeth—bone on bone that gets Sans breathing heavy and trying to press up into it.

When he starts to squirm, his fingers digging into your hips, you can’t help but feel _powerful_ up here on top of him, learning how to take this gentle giant apart with your mouth alone.

The thought of how much _more_ you could do…

It’s heady.

Sans still has his shirt on and that seems wrong so you start to tug at it, wanting it _off._

“wait,” he pants, pulling back a little. “wait, i…you, too, okay? i…wanna see ya’…”

The sentiment behind the breathless admission hits you hard.

Sans wants to see you, too.

He wants to look at you, at your body that you’d never really thought was anything special and he even seems _excited_ about it.

…Maybe he’s thinking the same thing about you right now, and that makes you smile: you’re just two goofballs, both delightedly confused that you want to undress each other.

“Sounds good to me,” you say, and then you’re peeling off your shirt, helping Sans out of his own and then…

There you are.

Both…topless in front of each other, just…looking.

He looks just as good to you as he did that day at the beach. His broad-set torso looks so _sturdy_ , more like it was sculpted from marble than just a happy accident of bone, and it’s too alluring for you to resist.

You reach out, stroking your fingers over all the newly exposed territory: his clavicles, his sternum, the almost graceful curves of his ribs.

(You’re careful to avoid the ones toward the bottom. You remember he was ticklish there…)

Sans lets you explore, not particularly reacting to your touch. More than anything, he seems focused on _you,_ his eye-light roving all over your bare chest and stomach like he’s trying to memorize you.

Maybe he is.

But he looks like he wants to touch you, too, and just…isn’t, so maybe he could use a little push.

“Hey,” you say gently and you want to laugh at the way he looks _right_ up at your face, like a schoolboy caught staring out the window. “You can touch me, too, y’know. You’re not gonna get in trouble.”

“…eheheheheheheh…yeah? you’re not gonna snitch on me?”

“Pfft…!” This damn _jokester_ of yours… “Not if you give me all your lunch money.”

“i’m broke, put it on my tab,” he says, but with the tension broken, he finally goes for it.

Sans reaches up to you, his hands framing your ribs with ease. They feel huge on your body, like he could just pick you up and move you however he wanted and the size difference between you is nothing new, but here, in this context, it’s…

Surprisingly _hot._

You feel like you’re learning something about yourself, even as he starts to stroke along your chest, thumbing curiously at your nipples, skating his phalanges over your belly lightly enough to raise goosebumps…

Sans looks utterly _riveted_ by it all.

“you’re so…… _soft,_ ” he murmurs eventually, like it’s something to marvel at.

You laugh a little.

Literally _any_ human must seem soft to somebody who’s made of bone, but you still find yourself flattered anyway. The way Sans says it makes it seem like a good thing and he keeps pawing at you, petting you like he’s so enamored by your body that he can’t stop.

There’s a clumsy eagerness to it that’s a little endearing…and a lot sexy.

You lean in, kissing him again except this time with your bare chest pressed up against his ribs. He nuzzles you back and by the way he flattens one of those big hands of his against the middle of your back, holding you tighter against him, you guess he likes the feeling as much as you do—skin on bone.

You want to know what else Sans likes.

“Where else is good, baby?” you mumble against his teeth. “Show me, help me out…”

“mmm…alright, twist my arm…”

But he grasps at your fingers and pulls them, guiding them down, down…

Into his rib-cage?

_…Huh._

When Sans gently settles your fingertips against the underside of his sternum, you’re not sure what you’re expecting, but when you rub and he _moans_ , you perk right up, utterly delighted.

You rub more, feeling the bone heat beneath your touch, and Sans quickly starts panting again. You explore a little with your other hand—the underside of his ribs doesn’t seem to do nearly as much for him, but when you reach his spine you _know_ you’ve struck oil.

All you have to do is stroke the seams of his lower vertebrae—the lumbar ones, you think—and Sans’ whole body _jolts,_ nearly bucking you off if not for the way you catch yourself on a rib at the last second.

He stares at you with wide eye-sockets, too stunned by his own reaction to be sheepish.

“…… _fuck_ ,” he says emphatically. “didn’t…i wasn’t expectin—ghhk!”

You latch back onto his spine, not even bothering letting him finish. That was _hot_ and you want to see what _other_ reactions you can wring out of him.

Sans starts trembling, huffing when you go after his sternum again too, and your mouth on his neck makes that delightfully deep voice of his pitch higher than you’ve ever heard it go.

“mmnn, ba—nnh— _baby_ …waaaait,” he practically whines, as if you weren’t already turned on. “come onnnn, sl—ohhhhh stars, _fuck,_ i wa…i wanna…nngh…”

He trails off, breathing quicker and going almost limp against the pillows behind him and it occurs to you that you might actually be able to make Sans come, _just_ from this.

The thought is tempting (and very, very sexy), but it seemed like Sans actually wanted to say something and _far_ be it from you to keep him from it.

Sans groans when you back off, almost helplessly disappointed, and you smirk at him.

“What, baby?” you tease. “What’d you want?”

He doesn’t answer you right away; maybe _can’t._ There’s a glazed look in that red eye of his that makes you feel ready to pounce and it’s a real struggle to just sit there patiently while he catches his breath.

“i wa…i wanna make _you_ feel good, too,” he slowly articulates. “lemme…lemme do that for you. show me how.”

You chuckle. “I don’t think I can feel _that_ good as long as I’ve got pants on. Hang on a sec.”

Without even thinking about it, you slide yourself off of Sans and start to shimmy out of your pants and underwear. He sits up on his elbows to watch you, enraptured, and it’s not until you have everything off that you fully realize…

You’re naked, in front of Sans, your boyfriend…for the very _first_ time.

Until right this second, you’d been riding pretty high on the confidence boost of making Sans unravel but now, much as you hate to admit it, you feel your self-consciousness starting to hit you.

You’re…not a model. You’re not a celebrity, either. You’re just you, and your body is…

You know what Sans said, about being attracted to you, but suddenly you can’t help but think that maybe now that he’s actually _seeing_ all of you, it might not be…what he was hoping for.

“Uh…” You bite your lip a little, feeling your face heat. “I guess I’m, uh…haha probably a little different from the humans in…porn….”

“no kiddin’…”

_…ouch._

But then Sans keeps talking.

“this is _way_ better. stars _above_ , you’re…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, like he’s at a legitimate loss for words and that’s…fine.

You didn’t need your heart, anyway.

Sans gets up, mattress springs creaking as he moves toward you. His eye-light is locked onto your body and you nearly remind him that your eyes are up _here,_ but with the awed focus on his face right now, you’re not sure he’d care.

His phalanges reach for you, pausing tentatively halfway.

“i… can i…?” he asks, almost hushed.

You don’t know that anyone’s ever been so eager or so careful about touching you before.

Sans has such a _knack_ for making you feel special.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

With permission, Sans touches you, nudging your legs apart. Butterflies in your stomach, you let him even though your heart pounds at the intent in his gaze as he pets along your inner thighs.

The first curious brush of his big fingers against your most sensitive areas makes you shiver…and suddenly, you think you must know what Sans felt like when you found some of _his_ good spots.

The grin he gives you is downright wolfish— _hungry._

“tell me,” he rumbles, so low and sultry that you feel yourself reacting to his voice alone. “tell me what you want me to do.”

_Oh, **stars** …_

“Don’t, uh…you don’t already _know_ what to do?” you tease a little weakly. “You’ve seen human porn, right? It’s everywhere, you should be an expert by now.”

Sans snorts. “yeah, sure, i seen it. _you’ve_ seen it, it’s just a lotta…slammin’, in-an’-out stuff that looks good for the camera.”

…Pfft, what a way to describe it!

“that ain’t _real_ stuff,” Sans insists. “i’m askin’ what _you_ want.”

There aren’t a whole lot of guys out there who’d ask a question like that when you were already naked in front of them.

Sans is such a sweetheart…

And if he really wants you to show him what you want, you think you can accommodate him.

“……babe?”

Sans doesn’t quite seem to understand what you’re doing when you crawl forward on the bed and turn your back to him, getting yourself settled between his femurs.

You turn your head straight up and find him looking down at you with a confused frown, but you just smile.

“You want to know what I like, right?” A purely rhetorical question, and you take Sans’ hand in your own, guiding it over you down to the apex of your thighs. “I’ll _show_ you.”

His big, bony fingers are pliant beneath yours and curl easily just the way you want them. You feel him watching when you start to move his hand, tracking the pace, but it’s not long before your body starts responding to the attention.

You know what you like, the best ways to get yourself off, and for the first minute or two, it feels like Sans isn’t even there—just you and your practiced touch making pleasure hum through you, building slowly toward your peak.

It feels good and you start to relax, letting your eyes fall shut and resting your head on Sans’ sternum behind you.

You can’t quite say when Sans starts touching you without your help.

You jolt, gasping when he twists his fingers in a way you _definitely_ weren’t guiding him to. It’s _good_ , though, and not even the smug chuckle that vibrates through you from behind can ruin it.

“how’m i doin’?” he asks, in the tone of a man who _knows_ he’s doing well. “s’it good?”

Of course it is.

His hand is still moving between your legs, just like you showed him, but it’s starting to feel…different. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, and you don’t think you’ve ever handled yourself with such slow, careful curiosity.

Knowing that it’s Sans—exploring you, playing with you, learning how to make you come—makes it feel like so much _more_ than anything you ever did by yourself.

“stars, _look_ at’cha,” he breathes, curling forward over you. “you’re incredible…you’re so _hot_ …can’t believe you’re lettin’ me touch ya’ like this…”

You feel your body starting to really heat up, your breath coming a little harder. The part of you not yet wholly focused on your climbing pleasure manages to notice something very, very important.

Sans is talking _way_ too much.

He’s still talking _at all._

You can fix that.

You reach back, slipping your hand up into the cavity of Sans’ torso and blindly groping for his spine. You find it and start to rub at those sensitive seams again, making Sans choke on a gasp.

Finding your voice for a moment, too, you chastise him with a hissed, “Don’t _stop_!”

He obeys, his hand starting to move again between your legs but this time without any commentary: he’s too busy huffing for breath now as you clumsily stroke his spine.

The only noises you hear out of him are bitten-back groans and they’re music to your ears, fuel for the fire his fingers are stoking higher in you by the second.

You’re pretty sure Sans is right there with you. You can feel in it the way he curls over you a little tighter, nuzzling the top of your head and pawing at your chest with his free hand; touching you everywhere he can while you chase your orgasm together.

You catch it first, just like that—with Sans’ hands on your body as color explodes behind your eyelids, arching your back and knocking your head against his sternum.

If there’s pain, it mingles so completely with the pleasure that you don’t even notice, coasting high on sensation.

You lose your backwards grip on Sans’ spine, but your hand thoughtlessly catches on a rib and you _squeeze,_ trying to ground yourself.

“ _hnngh_ …!”

Sans chokes, hunching down over you and apparently that was enough to push him over the edge, too.

The sound of his broken groan may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

You hope you can remember it…or maybe just get to make him do it again another time.

The two of you spend a few long moments catching your breath together, bodies wrung out and slumped against each other for support.

When you finally speak, it’s simultaneous.

“Wow…”

“wow…”

…………

“Pfft, you _goober_!” you laugh, but Sans scoffs at you.

“ _i’m_ a goober?” he demands. “i think if anybody’s a _goo_ ber, it’s you.”

You don’t understand the pun at first…but then Sans holds his hand out in front of you, still coated in the evidence of your orgasm and oh, stars, he probably thought that was so _gross_ of you.

“Oh jeez, I…yeah, that happens when humans…there’s…I’ll just go get a t—”

Aaaand, he was already wiping it on his sweatpants.

Charming.

“—or you can do that, I guess…”

Sans settles his chin atop your head. “gonna take a lot more than a little slime to scare _me_ off,” he declares, and for the subject matter, it sounds _entirely_ too sweet.

Maybe for that, you’ll wash his sweatpants for him, so that doesn’t stain.

But the thought gives you pause, quickly followed by a wave of annoyance.

“Shit!” you exclaim, making Sans jump a little. “I didn’t even get your pants off! _Damn_ it!”

As soon as he processes the words, Sans bursts out laughing.

“aww, babe,” he snickers, “seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, you got to see _me_ naked,” you protest, gesturing to your still very nude self. “I want to see you naked, too!”

Sans wraps his arms around you, hugging you close. “you’re not missin’ out on anything, i promise.”

“But—”

“ya’ ever seen one of those…naked plastic skeletons you guys put up everywhere when the leaves change?”

The mirth in his voice is hard to miss but, “Yeah…”

“s’exactly like that. ya’ seen one pelvis, ya’ seen ‘em all.”

You frown. “Really? There’s nothing…down there? Like a…uh.”

It occurs to you that you…may possibly be a silly, oversexed human, expecting a skeleton to have some kind of genitalia.

But before you can get too embarrassed about it, Sans casually adds, “i could _make_ somethin’ for ya’, if ya’ wanted me to.”

“What, s…seriously? Like a…magic d—”

“magic dick, yeah.”

“I…how does…?”

“can show ya’ the tongue if ya’ wanna see how it works? m’pretty good at that one.”

Yes. Yes, you absolutely have to see this.

You twist in Sans’ grip, looking up and holy shit, there it is—a big, translucent blue _tongue_ lolling out from between your boyfriend’s teeth.

You’re fascinated by the sight of it and reach up towards it.

When Sans doesn’t stop you, you actually touch it, just a curious little poke, and it’s…well, more or less what you’d expect a tongue to feel like. It's wet, a little slimy, but also strangely reminiscent of the time you’d shaken Grillby’s hand: something both there and not there at the same time. It seemed to be a _lot_ smoother than a human tongue, too, without all the bumpy taste-buds.

“Can you…does it _work_?” you have to know. “Can you taste with it?”

The impossible tongue retracts, slipping back behind Sans’ teeth where it just seems to…disappear.

“yeah. it’s magic—it’s _me,_ it does what i want it to. don’t _need_ it to taste stuff, but it’ll do it if i got it out.”

…You can’t even begin to figure out how that makes sense. For your own sanity, you just put it down to ‘magic’ and try to let it go.

“So…magic dick.”

“yeah. if ya’ wanted.”

“Why no magic dick this time?” you ask. “Is it…snrk…is it like the ‘good china,’ you only…whip it out for special occasions?”

You can’t even keep a straight face asking the question. You can’t blame Sans for laughing at it, too.

“heheheh, you’re plenty special, babe,” he assures you. “tongue’s easy, i’ve _done_ a tongue before. gotta research a little before i try something new.”

“‘Research,’” you echo, emphasizing the dubious quotations in your tone.

“haha, no, seriously, _actual_ research. real unsexy, probably…diagrams an’ medical textbooks an’ shit. did the tongue look human to you?”

“No?”

“yeah, ‘cause i winged it.” Sans snuggles you closer against him even as he proposes to you a very philosophical question. “what d’you suppose it’d look like if i tried to mimic some human…stuff, without bein’ able to remember all the details?”

The first image to pop into your head is a semi-phallic…shape, resembling nothing so much as the cheapest, most terrible-looking dildo money could buy.

And then you try to imagine it in blue, suction-cupped onto your boyfriend’s pelvis.

“…hahaha… Hahahahahahaha! Oh _no_ …!”

“i’ll assume by your laughter that whatever ya’ just thought of was hilarious an’ also the _least_ sexy thing ya’ ever pictured in your life.”

You cover your mouth, trying to stifle the chuckling. “A little bit, yeah,” you admit.

“that’s why ya’ gotta let me mess around with it a little first,” Sans explains. “haven’t exactly paid a lot of attention to that stuff before. i can probably make somethin’ a little sexier, but i need the details for that. can’t make somethin’ out of magic unless i can recreate it in my head first—so now’d be the time to start thinkin’ if ya’ got any requests.”

…‘Requests’?

_Oh._

The possibilities of that are…actually soberingly incredible, now that you think about it.

You’d never entertained a future where your partner could just…make _anything_ for you, if you gave him enough time to work out how. Images were suddenly racing through your head, each sexier and more fantastical than the last.

_Anything._

Amazing!

“if ya’ don’t wanna wait, though, i seen a lot of hot dogs, could probably do a pretty good one a’those.”

………

If it weren’t for Sans’ arms around you, you think you’d double all the way over with how hard your laughter hits you; hard enough to make you wheeze.

“A hot dog?! Shut _up,_ you’re the _worst_!”

“heheheheh, don’t you mean ‘the _wurst_ ’?”

“Fffffffffff…!”

You can’t even tell him how much you hate him because you’re laughing too hard.

It’s probably just as well, since that would be a total lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could take place anytime after Chapter 12 of FGTC, if you're looking to place it in the continuity. A sex scene--even one as fluffy as this--just didn't quite seem to fit in the vibe of the original story, so I left it out.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Is this canon? If you want it to be! If you're a sex-averse ace or anything similar and don't want this to be canon, then it isn't! Choose your own adventure! :3~~


	3. JUSTICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are not _you_. At least...not the you that you _think_ you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of death, discussion of suicidal thoughts not acted on

You’re going to see an old…friend.

That seems like the best word for what he was to you, all those years ago.

You’re not sure a better one exists that properly encompasses……everything……but it’s close enough for you.

So, you’re going to see your friend.

The journey isn’t as far as you remembered, the hike not as exhausting. You suppose it makes sense—it’s been a long time, and time has changed you. You’re older now, with longer legs and bigger lungs that make it so much easier than the last time you did this.

Not _easy_ , though.

You don’t think going back up to Mt. Ebott could ever be _easy._

But you go anyway, because it’s been too long and you want to see your friend.

Even if it means you have to climb down into the hole ~~in spite of the temptation~~ , you’re ready to do it if that’s what it’ll take.

Fate has other plans for you, though. You hear his voice before you even get anywhere _near_ the entrance to the Underground.

“…… _Frisk?_ ”

You turn and smile because there he is, looking almost the same as the last time you saw him.

His eyes are wary and haunted, mouth twisted in a confused grimace as he stares at you. His stem is maybe more wilted and his petals are showing a little more foxing than before, but you’d know him anywhere.

You say hi to Flowey.

“‘Hi’?” he echoes in disbelief. “Hi?! That’s all you’ve got to say after you just…disappeared for fifty years?!”

You say you’re pretty sure it hasn’t been _that_ long and that he’s exaggerating.

“Who _cares_ if I’m exaggerating!” Flowey snaps, his petals fluffing up at you. “What the heck are you even doing here?!”

You tell him that you wanted to see him again, to make sure he was doing okay.

You’re not very surprised that after a long pause, he laughs at you.

“You’re…you’re joking, right?” he demands, with that ‘you idiot’ face that wasn’t one of the things you’d missed about him. “I’m really supposed to believe—hahaha—that you caaaaare about me?”

You shrug.

“What are you _really_ here for?” Another face you were never fond of, smug and demeaning, like he was catching you in a lie. “I bet you fiiiinally changed your mind about letting me go, huh? Wanted to add just oooone more layer of monster dust to that cute little _knife_ you found—where is it, Frisky? You can show your old pal, Flowey…”

You can’t, actually. You don’t have it anymore and you’re not even sure where it is.

You threw it away somewhere, in an alley, you think. You don’t remember it very well, with the tears blurring your vision as you ran as fast and as far as you could away from Ebott.

You do wish you’d kept it now, if only to chuck it into a fire until the dusty plastic melted away to nothing.

Knowing that it’s still out there somewhere, maybe in the hands of some other kid who’s playing with it, having no idea that their toy had ended so many lives…

It fills you with regret.

You tell Flowey that the knife is gone and you don’t want to dust anymore monsters.

He scoffs at you.

“What’s with this ‘Angel of Mercy’ schtick all of a sudden?” he demands. “I don’t _get_ it! You looked like you were having _lots_ of fun playing the ‘Angel of Death’ back then—just RESET already if you’re finally done with it! Who needs this stupid, boring…lonely…timeline, anyway?!”

Oh, poor Flowey.

You shouldn’t have left him alone up here, all by himself for so long.

There’s a lot of things you shouldn’t have done.

But you tell Flowey that you… _can’t_ RESET anymore.

The power is gone, and it has been for a very, very long time. You don’t know how or why or where it went, but you can’t go back anymore.

You can’t fix anything.

Flowey stares at you. He looks so ~~much like Asriel~~ so young, almost scared by your words.

“…quit…quit trying to trick me, Chara,” he says. “That’s not…that’s not a funny joke!”

Flowey doesn’t even seem to notice the name slip, but you do.

You don’t correct him.

You’ve gotten too familiar with the feeling of calling for family that…won’t ever come.

Chara’s been so quiet in your soul these past few years. You’re not even sure they’re still with you, and you like to think that they…finally moved on, wherever it is souls go when they can’t come back anymore.

It’s probably for the best: you know what it would’ve taken to fully wake them back then, killing _everybody_ in the Underground, and you never quite had what it would’ve taken to pull that off.

You might’ve, eventually, if the RESET power had stayed. You don’t like thinking about that.

But as lost to you as Chara is, the RESETs are lost, too, and you’re not playing a trick.

You tell Flowey so, that you’ve tried to use it, to go back and do things over, but…nothing happens, now.

It’s gone.

Flowey…doesn’t seem to know how to feel about that.

His incredibly expressive face cycles through at least a hundred emotions—you catch some fear, some confusion, and some other things you can’t put a name to, but eventually he settles on anger.

“Wh…what do you mean, it’s _gone_?” he demands. “If you don’t…then…then _I_ should have it! I was Determined before you came and wrecked everything! So where _is_ it?! Where’d it _go_?!”

He puts on his spooky face and bellows at you.

“TIME-ALTERING, GODLIKE POWER DOESN’T JUST DISAPPEAR, _FRISK_!”

Funny: that seemed so much scarier back when you were a kid.

You know now that it’s just a mask, the defense-mechanism of a battered little flower trying to look bigger and scarier than he is.

You wish Flowey _was_ bigger. You think you’d like to be able to give him a hug.

You tell him that the time-altering, godlike power _did_ disappear. Maybe you waited too long after that last run, maybe you’re not Determined enough to RESET the world anymore and maybe…nobody is?

You never fully understood your power and you know Flowey didn’t either—neither of you ever _tried_ to understand what it was or how it worked, it was…

Back then, it was just something you did for _fun_ , like…like a video game.

You tell Flowey you understand what he was thinking all those years ago; why he thought the way he did.

When there’s no consequences, you can do anything you want and not feel bad about it, even the most heinous things that you’d like to think you’d never do. You can hurt people, _just_ to see what happens, what changes, how everybody else reacts.

It’s fascinating and easy and _fun,_ you felt the same way.

…Until all the consequences came rushing back.

You laugh, a little sadly, and tell Flowey that you were planning on another RESET, a _lot_ more RESETs after that last time. You were going to try so many more things, you…

Haha, you were…you were going to see what happened if you only killed Papyrus, but let everyone else go. You were _excited_ to see what changed.

How messed up is that?

You never expected _this_ timeline to be the one that stuck.

Flowey actually looks a little cowed by your genuine remorse. He probably spent all this time thinking you’d just killed a bunch of monsters and left because you didn’t care at all, never to return.

You don’t blame him for not knowing what to say to you now.

“What…” Flowey trails off, trying to find a better way to ask you his question. “If you knew then…that it was gonna be the last one…how _would_ you have done it?”

What a question.

You’ve asked it of yourself before and you know the answer, all the way down to your soul.

You tell Flowey that you would’ve wanted the _good_ ending, the one you got that very first time.

Everyone made it to the surface, then. Nobody died: Undyne and Alphys were girlfriends, and Mettaton got to be a big superstar for humans, and Mom—……

 _Toriel_ tucked you into bed at night and left a slice of butterscotch cinnamon pie for you if you were still sleeping when she finished it.

“……I don’t remember that one,” Flowey admits quietly. “I…you must’ve…erased _my_ memories, too.”

Of course you had.

He’d asked you to…and you still thought of him as a friend.

“Did…did I make it up to the surface, too? That time?”

It’s such a small, vulnerable question.

It’s hard to remember at times like these that Flowey doesn’t have a soul, that he isn’t the same soft-hearted crybaby kid you only got to meet the one time.

The compassion must show on your face because Flowey scowls at you, hastily adding, “I bet I didn’t! You just left me Underground to _rot_ , huh? What good am _I_ for your big, fat happy ending, _right?_ ”

You tell him he didn’t make it to the surface, but only because he asked you to leave him there.

You can tell he’s disappointed. You can tell he’s hurt and a lot more upset about it than he would ever admit.

Instead, he huffs, crossing his leaves over his stem. “Yeah, I bet I did,” he grumbles. “It sounds like a _shitty_ ending, probably…probably lots of dumb, idiot monsters just smiling and hugging all the time up here in the sun. I bet I stayed Underground just to get _away_ from ‘em…”

You’re not buying it.

Flowey might be soulless, but he’s a better person than he likes to admit.

You ask him if he hates all the other monsters so much, then why did he work so hard to keep them alive?

That startles him.

“Wh…what!” He cackles at you, like you said something stupid. “What are you talking about? I didn’t!”

But he did. You looked it up.

The years after you lost your RESET power, when you were still running away and hiding from everything… the amount of ‘disappearances’ around Mt. Ebott _spiked._ Humans used to go missing every few years around the summit, but after, when the monster famine must’ve just been starting Underground…

Humans started falling every couple of _months._

You tell Flowey that you don’t think that’s a coincidence _or_ an accident. You still remember how you fell into the Underground.

You tripped on a vine.

You can’t imagine how much Determination Flowey must’ve used to keep the monsters from starving to death right away, how hard it must’ve been to reach beyond the Barrier and—

“I didn’t!”

You pause and find Flowey glaring down at the ground, pointedly not looking at you.

“I didn’t…go _through_ the Barrier,” he slowly mutters. “The vines were…they’re not even _mine,_ they were just…already…passing through the Barrier and I could…maybe…make the outside parts…move a little…”

You smile. Flowey saved so many lives with just ‘a little’ thing like that.

“It…! It was for _fun!_ ” he snaps at you. “It was _hilarious_ watching those stupid humans fall and get hunted and _die!_ It’s not like I was saving monsters on _purpose_ , or anything!”

Of course. Your mistake.

“Yeah! Because! How _boring_ would it be Underground if I didn’t even have anybody to laugh at, right?”

Probably about as boring ~~and lonely~~ as it’s been living on this mountain after all the monsters left it.

But you don’t say that part.

You let him have this one and take the trowel out of your backpack.

“What…what the heck is that for?!” Flowey demands.

You tell him that you’re taking him with you.

“Why?!”

Because…there’s a lot of wrongs that you can’t right anymore.

So many of the people you called your friends are dead now because of what you did and you can’t fix that.

The ones that are even still alive ended up so hurt because of you that they’d probably never be able to call you a ‘friend’ again, at least not in _this_ life.

You…haltingly, you admit to Flowey that you’ve had thoughts… About diving down into the hole in Ebott again, except maybe this time, the golden flowers wouldn’t cushion your fall.

You thought that maybe if you did that, your soul would refuse to die like it always had before and you could finally go back and _fix_ everything.

…And if it didn’t, well…at least it would all be over for you.

“So go try it then!” Flowey screeches as you start to dig around him. “Nobody would care after what you did to them all! Nobody would miss you! Go kill yourself and leave me alone!”

No, you won’t.

That’s not fair, it’s not the right thing to do—for _anyone._

Your death doesn’t fix anything. It never has before and it won’t now, especially if it’s as permanent this time as you think it would be.

Living and trying to do better, though…

It’s the hardest thing you can think of, living with the weight of all your sins, but it also feels like the best sort of penance you can offer.

Everybody else you’ve wronged has long since moved on with their lives, getting better and finding good things for themselves. You checked.

~~The skeletons brothers are your favorite success story: Papyrus has made a name for himself as the very first monster RN, and Sans just got married, to a _human_. You’re so happy for them. ~~

There’s really only one monster that isn’t in a better place now, and you know if you tried to visit Undyne in prison, you showing up would just make things worse for her instead of better. For her sake (and a little bit of your own), you’re staying very far away from her.

But maybe there’s one _more_ monster that you can do better for, somebody who never got his happy ending even when everybody else did.

And you can’t help him if he’s still stuck up here on this awful mountain.

Flowey sneers at you as you gently settle him into a flowerpot.

“Ohhhh,” he coos, “how sweet and noble of you, Frisk! My _hero!_ ” He gives a fake retching noise for added effect. “What are you gonna do for me, huh? Make me a new soul? ‘cause I’m still a soulless abomination, y’know! You can’t just _huuuuug_ that out of me!”

You laugh and tell him that you can try!

Flowey squints at you suspiciously. “…Try _what_?” he asks. “To hug the soullessness out of me? Or try to…make me a new soul?”

You’re not sure yet—but you’re still young, with your whole life ahead of you and even without the RESET power, you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.

“Pfft, sure, whatever! You’re just trying to make yourself _feel_ better,” Flowey accuses you, “like you’re actually a _good person_ or something. Ha!”

You know he’s trying to bait you, and you don’t let him.

Really, you tell him, you just wanted a Player 2 for your new game.

Slyly, you add that Yoshi’s in it.

“………he is?”

You nod, Yoshi and Princess Peach and Mario—

“Mario _sucks!_ ” Flowey says heatedly. “Stupid mustache guy, Yoshi would kick his _butt_ if they ever fought!”

You ask him if he wants to test that out and watch him go almost starry-eyed.

“It’s a fighting game…?”

It sure is.

“W…well then! Hurry up, what’re we still doing _here_?!” He smirks at you. “Unless you’re scared you’re gonna _lose!_ ”

He laughs and it sounds so much like Asriel that it feels like your soul squeezes in your chest.

You spare just one more moment to mourn everything you lost—the ‘best’ ending that’s gone forever—but you let it go, out into the air like a whoosh of breath.

There’s no going back anymore, just moving forward.

And the future… _your_ future is still full of possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys didn't see _this_ cameo coming. ;3
> 
> Frisk meant to end on a Pacifist run, but they lost the power to RESET halfway through their experimenting. Why did it go away...? Anyone's guess!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Maybe the Player abandoned the game...~~
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the new perspective! :D


	4. KINDNESS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things only _she_ can do... even if it hurts her. Undyne learned that from someone really important to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Undyne’s never had so many letters in her life.

The pile looks especially huge on her modest little writing desk. It feels like it gets bigger by the day and there was a time she’d have laughed at the idea of being intimidated by a measly stack of _paper_ , but that time is well behind her.

She _gets_ it now, and looking at all her letters just makes her feel an uncomfortable kind of sick.

They remind her of the letters she found in Alphys’ lab, after she…

After she…

…

Undyne wonders if _she_ felt this kind of sick, too, thinking about what nasty, accusing words could be in the unending stream of letters delivered to her. She wonders if Alphys stared at them like she does, trying not to think about all the people she failed and wishing they’d all just…go away and leave her alone.

Were they the reason Alphys did…what she did? Was she thinking about Mettaton or Asgore, or was it the _letters_ that made her feel like she needed to escape so _badly_ that she was willing to…?

Undyne should’ve noticed.

She was so caught up in everything, so hurt and so _angry,_ but Alphys was struggling, too. If she’d paid just a little more attention, maybe she could’ve…

Maybe she’d still be…

 _Damn_ it…

Undyne’s not supposed to think that way and she knows it. It’s not ‘healthy,’ or whatever, to dwell on what-ifs and coulda-woulda-shoulda’s, she’s heard that enough times from her shrink.

But the letters make her think stuff like that and maybe that’s why she keeps pretending they’re not there.

She already gets all the updates she needs about the outside world from her visitors, anyway.

Papyrus probably tells her the most.

He comes by every other week, like clockwork, and he yammers on and on about as many of Undyne’s former subjects as he can think of.

It’s nice to know what everybody’s up to, that they’re doing okay, and really the only downside is that he always tries to sneak in a lecture at her in between all the important stuff.

‘Did your best’ this, and ‘forgiven you’ that, she doesn’t wanna hear any of _that_ mushy crap…

Gerson’s a lot easier to deal with, even if he only checks in on her every couple of months.

Undyne doesn’t take it personally, though— he’s the King of All Monsters now, and she knows how busy _that_ job can be.

Either way, he’s not as sappy as Papyrus but he still talks a lot. Mostly about how he’s working on reducing her sentence all the time, and that’s its own kind of annoying.

She tunes out a lot when he starts talking about stuff like getting monsters’ imprisonment counting towards her time served and extenuating circumstances, blah blah blah.

Undyne, uh… actually has no idea how long her sentence still is and how much of it she has left to serve.

It’s not her fault, though, that crap is just so _boring_!

All she knows is that Gerson keeps threatening that ‘in just a couple years,’ he might be able to officially name her his successor, like that was actually a _good idea_ after how that went the _first_ time.

Undyne knows better than to argue with the old man by now, though.

“Now, listen here, ‘Dynie,” he said last time, “you were a good queen when things were bad, so when things are good, you’re bound to be a _great_ one!”

She’d scoffed at him, rolling her eye and pointing out, “You still have to _dust_ before I can succeed you, y’know. Aren’t you immortal or something? Fossil.”

“Keep that kinda talk up and I really _will_ live forever, just to mess with ya’! Wa ha ha ha!”

…Crazy old codger.

But his opinion is one that she…

If he wants her to take another shot at the Queen thing, if he thinks she should, then maybe…

Hell, she’s done _crazier_ things.

But she’ll burn that bridge when she gets to it.

Undyne has another visitor today, one who’s never come before, and she’s not sure what to expect.

She’s gotta give him one thing, though: the red glow of his eye, watching her in the darkness of her cell is actually pretty damn spooky.

“Are you here to kill me or what?”

The question makes Sans flinch, and she immediately feels a little guilty for asking it.

It makes her bluster a little, demanding, “Well, what am I _supposed_ to think? Sneaking around in the dead of night like a ninja, all creepy…”

But Sans hadn’t _always_ looked so creepy…had he?

That was Undyne’s fault.

Before everything, Sans had just been Papyrus’ lazy older brother and her absolute worst sentry, with harmless white eye-lights, a whole skull, and a lazy grin.

He never asked to be her executioner and it wasn’t fair to keep trying to pin that role on him.

“How’d you even get _in_ here, anyway?” she wonders.

Finally, Sans speaks. “does it matter?”

 _……Fair point,_ she supposes.

“Alright. How about… _why_ are you here?”

Undyne can’t imagine anyone would break into even a _minimum_ security prison without a reason.

“…gotta question for ya,” Sans admits after a moment. “always…always meant to ask. never felt steady enough before.”

She hears the unspoken, ‘but i do now’ and it makes her feel…

Good.

Undyne is glad he’s steady. She’s glad he’s doing better, and she’s even glad for whatever role that… _human_ …spouse of his had in it.

But she’s starting to feel like it’s the letters all over again, that dread of the unknown rearing up in her gut.

………

_Fuck that._

“Ask away,” she says, because if there’s anybody she owes answers to, it’s him.

Sans looks her dead in the face and asks, “why’d you take the fall?”

Well.

Somehow the most obvious question he could’ve asked her, and she still didn’t see it coming.

It makes her laugh a little, at herself.

“What,” Undyne chuckles, “you _really_ can’t guess?”

That red light is still locked on her, immobile in its socket. “don’t wanna guess. i wanna hear it.”

And she guesses that’s fair, too, so she bites the bullet.

“Come on,” she says. “We both know I wasn’t the best queen, don’t we? Things were bad and…I wasn’t ready for the responsibility. But that doesn’t really do much for the people who got hurt, does it?”

She knows her meaning is clear, but she gestures towards the glaringly huge hole in Sans’ skull anyway, void-black even in her already-dark room.

The victim of her handiwork just shrugs.

But really, that’s just an explanation for what she did, not an excuse. And even if it _were_ an excuse, Undyne’s not big on those.

“I really hurt you. I know that.”

“ya’ hurt Papyrus, too.”

It’s probably the quickest retort Undyne’s heard out of him since she cracked his skull open. She’s not too surprised it was in defense of his brother.

She rolls her eye, anyway.

“ _Duh,_ dude, I was there, I remember. But that was…”

She struggles for a word that won’t make the both of them feel like crap.

“…Fixable.”

She fails.

At least Papyrus’ teeth could be filled in and set straight. With his braces off these days, he looks almost the same as he used to, like that awful fight never even happened.

There isn’t a brace in the world that can put Sans’ head back together, and they both know that it isn’t just a superficial wound.

He has to deal with what Undyne did to him every day of his life.

Sans huffs, something that could almost be a laugh. “so…what? it’s guilt?” he asks. “y’wanted to do my time for me, make things ‘even’?”

Sorta…?

But that’s not everything and she wants him to understand.

“Hey. You used to be friends with Alphys, right?”

“………?” The confusion in his silence is palpable. Eventually he admits, “wouldn’t say ‘friends.’ worked together. knew her.”

“Yeah, good enough. You heard her talking about her history tapes at least once, then.”

“…her…? oh. her anime.” It looks like Sans is wondering if he missed a piece of the conversation somewhere. He obviously has no idea what Undyne’s getting at and it’s almost funny. “what about it?”

There’s no way she could explain it right.

Alphys had such an amazing way with words when she was excited, so passionate and overflowing and there’s just no way Undyne could ever replicate that night she remembers so fondly now.

“O-oh, this next one i-is one of my favorite episodes,” Alphys had gushed, her claw over the PLAY button. The light of the TV was reflecting off her glasses and she’d looked so cute, but Undyne was too chicken to try to hold her hand, so she just kept her mouth shut and let her talk. “It’s, it’s actually really s-sad, but! It’s r-really powerful, too, ‘cause Wan-Wan comes back and, and even after he wrecked Mew-Mew’s school at the beginning of the season, he has a change of heart right before the final battle! And he cuts off his own tail just to heal her and it’s really, _really_ cool because, y’know, it shows that he’s not _really_ a bad guy, he just made a lot of mistakes, but that’s not all he is! He can do good things, too, when they give him the chance to, and he _does_ it even though it hurts him and he can’t fly without _both_ of his tails, but it was something only he could do and that’s just so! It’s really beautiful and important and—……oh jeez, I just…s-spoiled the whole thing, d-didn’t I? Oh no, s-sorry, Undyne…! I-it's still good, I promise, we c-can still watch it, r-right…?”

Undyne does her best to sum up, the memory of Alphys’ shyly reddening scales bringing a tired smile to her face.

“It’s something she told me,” she explains. “There’s some things only you can do, even if it hurts you. And this is my thing.”

She’s not sure Sans understands yet. He’s still just standing there, staring at her, so she keeps going.

“You’re…you’re a good guy, Sans,” Undyne says, as gently as she has in her. “You never wanted to hurt anybody. I knew that. You’re not…like me.”

Because she _did_ want to hurt somebody— _any_ body, after Frisk did what they did and vanished—and it was not keeping that in check that messed things up for everybody; that made Sans do her job for her.

She still remembers, vividly, the hollow expression on his skull when he stood before her that first time, telling her that he’d secured a human soul. It was a sad look, pained and reluctant, yet…

 _Determined_.

He reminded Undyne so much of Asgore, then. He still does, and it makes it feel even _more_ right that she’s doing this instead of Sans.

“Besides,” she smirks, “you’re _way_ too soft. You’d never survive in jail, not even cushy, rich-human jail! Me, I’m tough as nails, so just…go back home and…let me do this for you, alright?”

By the light of Sans’ eye, Undyne sees a slow smile start to break across his face.

“heh…you gotta way of _hammerin’_ your point _home,_ don’cha?”

A pun.

 _Two_ puns, technically.

Sans must really be doing better these days if he’s punning again.

 _Good_.

Undyne’s grin falls a little when Sans adds something else, though.

“listen. …you were…probably a better queen than ya’ give yourself credit for.” His tone is begrudging, but that just makes her feel more like he actually _believes_ what he’s saying. “just ‘cause it didn’t work out great for me, specifically, doesn’t mean… doesn’t mean there aren’t a whole bunch of monsters out there that really care about you.”

……Oh, stars above, not him, too!

But before Undyne can think of anything to say, Sans and his glowing red eye are gone, leaving her alone in her cell.

Typical Sans.

Undyne flops back on her cot and tries to go to sleep, even though she’s feeling…

She’s not sure.

But the next day, when she sees the letters on her desk… she doesn’t feel the same dread as before.

If what Sans ~~and Papyrus and Gerson~~ said is even a little true, then maybe…maybe whatever’s in there isn’t so bad?

Undyne rummages through the pile, half-heartedly at first, until she find something that sticks out to her.

The stationery is neon pink and smells like perfume…and a little like the dump, honestly. Like water and rusty springs and…stuffing?

It’s familiar, but what really gets her is that it says it’s from _Mew-Mew_ and it’s gotta be a joke, but hell, it has her attention.

Undyne opens it up.

 _“Dear Undyne,”_ it reads in a flowing, cursive script, _“sweet, strong, violent, **perfect** Undyne, I hope this letter finds you well! You may not know me, but I have very fond memories of **you** …”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into Undyne's head was harder than I thought... But what, am I gonna give literally everybody else _but_ her the chance for a happy ending? I had to try!
> 
> Maybe someday, she'll write a letter back to her [secret admirer](https://undertale.fandom.com/wiki/Mad_Mew_Mew)...


	5. INTEGRITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to feel 'morally upright' when you're in love with your brother's spouse. 
> 
> *THIS CHAPTER IS OPTIONALLY CANON*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: healthy, discussed polyamory (Sans/Reader/Papyrus, no fontcest), brief panic attack

Janine was looking at him flatly, in that no-nonsense way that had so endeared her to him in the first place.

He isn’t sure how much he appreciates the look now.

“Papyrus,” she says. “Do you _really_ think that’s a fair assessment of yourself? That you’re ‘the _worst_ brother _in the world_ ’?”

Papyrus considers it.

“No, I Definitely Think That’s Just About The Size Of It!” he decides. “I Am, Actually, The Worst!”

And he is.

He _has_ to be.

Because a _good_ brother wouldn’t go and do something as stupidly _selfish_ as develop _feelings_ for his brand new sibling-in-law.

Papyrus isn’t quite sure how Janine even got this out of him except that she’s _very_ good and _very_ sneaky.

It’s the whole reason he started seeing her as his therapist, but it’s also considerably jarring when she manages to finesse the exact thing he wants to talk about the least and make it the center-stage of discussion.

It had just seemed as if one minute, they were talking about how things were finally settling back down after Sans’ wedding, and then the next, he was talking about _you,_ in all the ways a brother-in-law _shouldn’t._

Your smile like sunshine, your laugh like music, your eyes the most incredible color he’s ever seen, and…

Stars above, he’s a piece of work for even _having_ these thoughts.

“They’re My _Friend,_ ” he says aloud. “They’re Married To _My Brother!_ I Was The Best Man _and_ Skeleton Of Honor At Their Wedding, For Fuck’s Sake! This Is… Romance Is _Not_ An Option Here, Why Am I _Like_ This?!”

“So…what are you going to do?”

Janine’s voice is enough to nudge Papyrus back from the ledge he’d been rapidly approaching.

“…What Do You Mean, ‘Do’?”

Janine shrugs. “You like them, don’t you?” she prompts. “You’re going to do something about this, right?”

Papyrus frowns. “I…Well, Of Course, I _Like_ Them, But—”

“So, what’s the plan, then?”

“There Isn’t A _Plan,_ I—”

“Well, you’re gonna break up your brother’s marriage _somehow,_ so you can be with them instead, aren’t you?”

“NO! STARS ABOVE, NO,” Papyrus exclaims, utterly aghast. “I WOULD NEVER! THOSE TWO ARE MY FAVORITE COUPLE OF ALL TIME! THEY MAKE EACH OTHER SO HAPPY!”

Papyrus was absolutely, totally sure of that.

Seeing you and Sans together never failed to make him feel all gooey and soft, like looking at a whole _bucket_ of kittens. You were his best friend and Sans was his best brother, and your relationship made you both so adorably happy—Papyrus _loved_ that, more than anything!

“JUST BECAUSE I’VE BEEN…WONDERING ABOUT THINGS LATELY—” like the feeling of holding your hand in his, or pressing his teeth to your cheek, “—THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’D EVER _DO_ ANYTHING ABOUT IT! I WOULD NEVER TAKE THAT KIND OF HAPPINESS AWAY FROM SANS AND—Ohhh, You Tricky Therapist, You, I See What You’re Doing…”

Janine just smiles beneath Papyrus’ squinting glare.

“I’m just letting you talk, Papyrus,” she says lightly, and he hears _all_ the smugness in the world in it. “Having feelings like this for somebody you’re close to and care a lot about… it’s very natural and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’ about it.”

Papyrus huffs. “Yes, It’s Not Bad At All To Lust After Your Own Brother’s Spouse.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t work here,” Janine gently reminds him. “And I don’t think you’d be nearly so upset about these feelings if they were only ‘lusting.’”

Oh, damn her.

She sees through _everything_ Papyrus puts up and he _hates_ it.

(He needs it and he knows it: a kick in the pants is the only thing that works to make him actually _deal_ with his problems instead of pretending they aren’t there.)

(But he still hates it.)

“Just thinking and feeling a certain way, even if it seems wrong, is totally fine. It only _becomes_ ‘bad’ if you’re planning on doing something harmful to the people and relationships in your life over these impulses. And you said it yourself— you have no intention of doing anything about this.”

“I……I Suppose So,” Papyrus grudgingly admits.

Janine’s smile is patient. “You need to keep working on giving yourself a break sometimes, Papyrus. You’re a great guy, but you’re only—”

“If You’re Going To Say I’m ‘Only Human,’ Please Don’t!” Papyrus cuts her off. “That’s Such A Species-Centric Phrase. You Know, I _Really_ Don’t Care For How Human-Coded Language Is Up Here On The Surface. Surely, There Are More Inclusive Ways To Get One’s Point Across Without Defaulting To ‘Human’ As An Adjective?”

“Is this something you’re _actually_ upset about, or are you just trying to get out of talking more about your feelings for your human-in-law?”

“I Was Certainly Trying To,” Papyrus readily agrees, “But Our Session Is Almost Up, So I Figured You’d Let Me Get Away With It.”

His blunt honesty makes Janine chuckle. “Well, you’re not wrong, there’s no way we have enough time to unpack all that in two minutes. That can just be our food for thought next time.”

Fantastic! Papyrus is dreading it already.

They wrap up the session and Janine only briefly stops him on his way out to say, “You’re _not_ the worst brother in the world, Papyrus. Seriously, go easy on yourself, you’re only…skeleton.”

“Terrible Execution,” Papyrus returns, “But The Effort Is Noted And Appreciated!”

He’s not sure he believes her. He still _feels_ like the worst brother in the world, but there’s one saving grace to this entire SNAFU.

Sans is, as a rule, _oblivious._

He undoubtedly has no idea that his brother has developed these shameful feelings for the love of his life, and Papyrus can keep up the charade for as long as he needs to! Just until the feelings go away on their own!

He has no Plan B for if they don’t.

He barely has a Plan A.

But!

He doesn’t call himself ‘The Great Papyrus’ for nothing and he’s survived much, much worse than this!

Everything is going to be…fine.

It _has_ to be.

-

Or not.

Papyrus is only allowed to live in his wonderful, ‘everything is fine’ fantasy for a few more days until cruel reality barges its way in.

Or at least, Sans does.

His big brother’s skull pokes its way into the kitchen, right in the middle of Papyrus making dinner.

Sans’ red eye-light roves slowly over the familiar scene and in response to Papyrus’ wordless, ‘Yes, Excuse You, How May I Assist You?’ stare, he speaks the most unnerving words of all time into existence.

“ya’ need any help in here?”

Suspicious.

 _So_ terribly suspicious that a lazybones like Sans might’ve developed a wild urge to be helpful, and yet…

Papyrus can’t quite bring himself to _discourage_ such a (fishy, dubious, weird) miracle.

“I Suppooose So,” he says warily as Sans ambles his way into the room. “You Can…Start Peeling The Potatoes For Me While I Throw The Casserole In…”

“yeah, sure,” Sans agrees, picking up a tuber. “no prob.”

Papyrus refuses to let Sans out of his line of sight, even as he slides the casserole dish into the oven. This is just too odd, _must_ be some kind of prank or joke and Papyrus will _not_ be caught unawares!

He decides to ask after you; if _you’re_ not here to help him with dinner because you’re still sleeping or something.

You had the day off today, not for any particular reason, but just because.

Normally, Papyrus would find that so abominably lazy, _clearly_ Sans rubbing off on you in the worst possible way, but…

He knows how hard you work the rest of the time.

You do so many things, often before they’re even asked of you, _just_ because you feel like it’s the right thing to do, and that’s so… so…

Papyrus firmly believes that someone like you _deserves_ a break now and then.

Sans smiles at the sound of your name, the way he always does.

“nah,” he says, “they’re awake. just hangin’ out in our room ‘til dinner.”

Which…

Begs the mildly terrifying question of…

Why aren’t you here now?

And _why isn’t Sans with you?_

“………hey, actually… while we’re talkin’ about ‘em…”

Oh, no.

Oh, _no._

Instantly, Papyrus knows what’s going on—he can tell by the set of Sans’ shoulders, the tone of his voice, this whole suspicious _trap_ he should’ve seen through from the start.

Sans _knows._

Sans knows _everything._

“Oh God,” Papyrus breathes. “Oh Stars, Fuck, No, No, No, _No…_ ”

Sans turns to face Papyrus and his eye-light shrinks at whatever he sees in his brother’s face.

“whoa, whoa, hey,” he says, abandoning a half-peeled potato on the counter. “Pap, it’s… you’re, relax, ya’ don’t gotta… ya’ look like you’re gonna have an attack or somethin’…”

“Yes, It Sure Does Feel Like That!” Papyrus wheezes, hand to his chest.

It feels too tight, suddenly, which is so _stupid_ because he doesn’t even have lungs and yet, it’s getting harder for him to breathe.

He’s…he’s light-headed and his soul is vibrating at a frequency fit to shatter glass and it’s starting to feel a little like he’s dying, but that part at least feels appropriate.

Sans _knows,_ he’s figured it out or maybe just _seen_ —maybe it was _obvious_ , the things he’s been feeling every time he looked at you, things that only Sans should be thinking about you and not _him_ because Sans _married_ you, he was your husband and Papyrus was just…was just…

The absolute _cad_ who wanted you, too.

“I’m…I’m Sorry,” Papyrus manages to get out, voice tight. “Sans, I—Oh Stars, I’m _So_ Sorry, I, You…! You Were _Never_ Supposed To Find Out, And I, _Obviously_ I Would Never, I, I, I…I…”

He stumbles a little, his damned knees giving out, but he half-catches himself on the counter.

Sans looks alarmed to say the least.

In the blink of the eyes that neither of them has, he’s right there next to Papyrus, under his arm and trying to support him.

Which honestly makes Papyrus feel worse.

Sans is such a good brother, always trying to take care of Papyrus in some way or another.

Even now, when he knows what a _horrible_ little brother he really has, the kind who’d want to _date his spouse behind his back._

It’s a vicious mantra in his skull right now, _The Worst, The Worst, **The Worst**_ on repeat, and he almost doesn’t hear it when Sans tries to talk to him.

“alright, alright, take it easy, bro, i think… think we might’ve gotten some wires crossed here? but that’s, it’s fine, just…can we chill out a little for a second?”

“I’m Sorry,” Papyrus apologizes again, grimacing. “Please, Sans, I…Yuh…You Have To Believe Me, I Never, I Was _Never_ Going To…To… _Please…_ ”

“okay,” Sans agrees. His voice is a low, steady murmur, almost _infuriatingly_ calm if not for the way it slightly eases the sheer panic that was making Papyrus’ bones rattle. “okay, Pap, i believe you, i know, everything’s okay.”

Lies, probably.

…But Sans almost never lied to him these days, not since before the _famine_.

He sounds…sincere.

And even if it _is_ a lie, the ‘everything’s okay’ lie is one Papyrus _really_ wants to believe right now.

“hey. can ya’ breathe with me for a sec, Pap?”

Oh god. The _breathing exercises._

Papyrus supposes it’s just that kind of night.

“This Is Stupid,” he grumbles weakly. “This Is So _Stupid,_ Sans, We Don’t Even Have _Lungs_!”

“yeah, i know, it’s dumb as hell. let’s try it anyway, huh?”

And so, reluctantly and cursing himself, Papyrus takes a deep breath and holds it, exhaling slowly when Sans does and starting it over again.

It must not have been as severe an attack as he thought because it only takes three long breaths before he can feel his soul steadying, his nerves quieting. He starts to feel less like a panicky mess of a skeleton and more like…himself.

Which is of course when the embarrassment rushes in.

Papyrus _hates_ losing control like that. It’s probably his least favorite souvenir from the Underground and it always manages to rear its ugly head at the least opportune moments.

“……Thank You, Sans,” he says eventually, somewhat meekly.

He half-wants to apologize again that Sans had to see that, but he holds himself back. Sans never accepts those apologies anyway, shrugs them off and points out all the times Papyrus has done the same for him, and there’s no point rehashing _that_ old chestnut.

Not when there are…much bigger fish to fry.

“forget about it.”

Papyrus sure would like to!

But he knows how very much ‘not over’ this conversation is, and sure enough, Sans keeps talking.

“just tryin’ to see if we’re on the same page here, don’t… don’t freak out again, but……that was about you wantin’ to smooch my human, yeah?”

Papyrus winces and _can’t_ hold back the apology this time. “I’m…I’m Really, _Truly_ Sorry, Sans,” he says desperately. “I Never Meant To… And Of Course, I Would _Never_ Want To Come Between The Two Of You, You… You Make Each Other So Happy! And That Makes _Me_ Happy, So…Please, Can We Just…Never Bring This Up Again?”

Sans frowns and Papyrus tries to talk faster.

“I’ll…! I’ll Get Better At Hiding It! You Were Never Supposed To Notice In The First Place, And—……”

A horrible thought occurs to Papyrus.

You and Sans talk about everything.

_Everything._

“Oh Stars, Do… Do _They_ Know, Too?”

Sans shrugs.

Of all the inane things to do!

“yeah?” he admits, almost like it’s a question. “i mean…we talked about it, so…yeah.”

Wonderful!

Papyrus bites back a moan of humiliated despair, forcing himself to smile instead.

“Of Course They Do!” he chirps. “I’ll Have To Move Cross-Country To Escape The Shame Of This, That’s Cool!” He takes a step forward. “I Guess I’ll Go Start Packing My Things!”

Sans catches his arm before he can get any further.

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he chuckles, “let’s…can we slow down a sec? you’re, like… _pole-vaulting_ to conclusions here, Pap, can we…actually _talk_ about it, or…?”

The suggestion soundly throws Papyrus off his footing.

“I’m…Not Sure What There Is To Talk About,” he admits. “I’m A Terrible Brother And I’ve Fallen For Your Datemate. Ugh, No,” he corrects, “ _Worse_ —Your _Spouse._ ”

“and…what’s bad about that?”

………

Well, that just stuns Papyrus silent.

“they’re…cute an’ sweet an’ honestly, probably the best human i ever met,” Sans says. “i get the attraction.” He laughs a little. “trust me, Pap, i _get_ it—i married ‘em, i’ll be the first to tell ya’ they’re the best. ain’t it kinda…natural? that you’d like ‘em, too?”

If Papyrus were wearing pearls, he feels like he’d be clutching them about now.

“‘Natural’?” he echoes.

Sans just smiles at him. “‘cause you’re the best, too, bro.”

“……Oh, Shut Up, Sans!” Papyrus snaps. “Now Is _Not_ The Time To Say…Very Nice, Flattering Things About Me! I’m A Home-Wrecker, I’m Trying To Destroy Your Marriage!”

“… _are_ you, though?”

Papyrus looks at Sans, uncertainly.

“‘cause…if you’re tryin’ to split us up, you’re doin’ a real terrible job of it,” Sans explains. “looks like you’re just sorta…quietly havin’ feelings over here an’ supporting our relationship instead of tryin’ to make ‘em ditch the zero and get with the hero.”

“……Don’t…Call Yourself A Zero, Sans. You May Not Be A Ten, But You’re At Least A Positive Integer.”

Sans’ expression turns smug, like Papyrus had just proved his point for him.

…He sort of had.

“yeah,” he says, “s’what i thought. so, first of all…relax? nobody’s mad at’cha, bro, this is…fine.”

Papyrus scoffs. “And _how_ can this possibly be fine?!”

“maybe ‘cause…they like you, too?”

If Papyrus had eyes, he’d be rolling them.

“Of Course They Do,” he says. “Recent…Developments…Aside, I’m An Exemplary Brother-In-Law, Of Course They Like Me!”

But Sans shakes his head. “nah, bro, nah. they _like_ -like you.”

And those are the simple, juvenile words that flip Papyrus’ world utterly upside down.

“No!” he exclaims when they finally register in his skull, shock and dismay on their heels. “That’s The _Last_ Thing I…! They…! They’re With _You,_ No, This Is Terrible! How _Could_ They?! I Thought—…Sans! Why Are You Laughing?! This Is The _Farthest_ Thing From Funny!”

Yet Sans chortles on, like the fact that the human he married is in _like_ -like with another skeleton doesn’t bother him at all.

“no?” he giggles. “it ain’t? this is like…funny-adjacent, dude…”

…

Alright, well now Sans is just plain not making sense!

Papyrus’ indignant confusion must show on his face, because Sans reaches up, grasping at his brother’s shoulder.

“look, Papyrus…” he says. “i love ‘em. i do. they’re, like…literally half of my whole world these days, y’know?”

Papyrus squirms a little. “I…I Know, That’s Why—”

Sans cuts him off. “but the other half is _you,_ bro.”

Papyrus’ jaw shuts with an audible click.

“i love you. i trust you. and hey, if you wanna smooch my human sometimes, too, that’s… it’s _really_ not gonna bother me.”

Papyrus…can’t quite believe the words he’s hearing.

…But Sans still doesn’t look like he’s lying.

Which is only _more_ confusing.

“I… Why Aren’t You… I Don’t Understand, Aren’t You…Mad? Or…Or Jealous? What If They…Wanted To _Choose_?”

Sans shakes his head and that’s not nearly enough of an answer, but he catches Papyrus’ gaze with his eye-light and holds it, looking deathly serious.

“Pap…we _shared souls._ i _know_ how much they love me ‘cause i felt it, and that’s…”

He trails off briefly, a soft, private smile coming over his skull.

“it ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he finishes confidently. “whatever they’re feelin’ for you too…it’s _with_ what they feel for me, not ‘instead of’.”

It sounds too good to be true, that there could really be a world where Papyrus could be _this_ lucky.

And despite himself, he finds his curiosity is piquing.

“How…How Do You Know They Like Me?” he asks hesitantly, but the more he talks, the less he finds himself able to shut up. “How Does That Even Come Up? Did…Did They _Say_ Something? What, Exactly, Was Said? Or Are You Only _Inferring_ From… Little Hints Or Cues Or Something? I Feel Like There’s A Lot Of Things Here That I Should Know, Sans, Please Tell Me Something???”

Sans is grinning in that way he does when he’s trying not to laugh and Papyrus feels his magic rushing to his cheekbones.

That was… _definitely_ too eager, wasn’t it?

This was still Sans’ spouse they were talking about and there was Papyrus, badgering his brother like a teenager who just heard a rumor that the most popular kid in school had a crush on him.

Ugh, thoughtless! _Stupid!_

As if he could somehow sense the negative thoughts, Sans squeezes Papyrus’ shoulder carefully, reassuring.

“i think,” he pointedly suggests, “that maybe this is a conversation you oughta be havin’ with _them._ ”

He’s right.

Of course he is. Sans is the laziest person Papyrus has ever known, but he’s very rarely actually _wrong._

But…

The thought of you—facing you, talking to you, teetering on the cusp of this strange and impossible possibility…

Papyrus is nervous.

“sorry, bro, no excuses,” Sans says, before Papyrus can even attempt to think of any. “i’ll finish up with dinner tonight. you two gotta talk—they’re waitin’ for ya’.”

Papyrus is gently yet firmly nudged toward the doorway, out of the kitchen. He turns to say something, but Sans already has his back to him, picking up the potatoes again, and Papyrus’ words die in his nonexistent throat.

Slowly, he…starts walking.

He passes Buddy, asleep on the couch in the living room, and allows himself a second of envy for the dog, utterly oblivious to the turmoils of higher life forms.

But only a second.

That’s all he can spare just now.

You’re waiting for him.

-

…You may have gotten more absorbed in the cute little cat game on your phone than you had intended.

You had meant to be sitting there, somber yet welcoming when Papyrus (hopefully) came up to see you, and you would gently pat the mattress in invitation. He would sit and you’d have a whole touching, idyllic heart-to-heart, it would be a thing of _beauty_ …

But he and Sans were taking an _awful_ long time down there and you’d started getting a little…bored.

So instead of that lovely scene, what happens instead is that Papyrus throws the bedroom door open and you jump, hastily dropping your phone and blurting, “Shit, hi, hey, Pap!”

You try to adopt a casual pose, but of course you have no idea how to force that so you probably look very awkward right now.

And then…your phone meows, so you have to scoop it up, shut it off, and shove it in your pocket as fast as humanly possible.

 _Damn,_ you’re smooth.

Surprisingly, though, Papyrus just…cracks a grin at you.

It looks fond, affectionate like many of the looks he’s been giving you lately when he thought you weren’t looking, and it makes you smile back at him.

When he says your name with the same feeling, on the heels of a simple hello, you feel…

Hopeful.

 _Confident_.

If he’s here, he wants to talk about this and _that,_ you’re ready for.

“So…you and Sans talked?”

“…Yes,” Papyrus says. “We…We Definitely Talked.”

When that’s _all_ he says for a long, drawn-out moment, you prompt, “……And?”

Papyrus sighs, rubbing at the back of his skull. With obvious reluctance, he admits, “I’m Considerably Confused, Honestly!”

“What about?”

He just…gestures, vaguely, at everything. It’s as if the entire universe is a source of frustration to him at the moment and he finds its gall offensive.

You hold back a laugh and finally get to do your scripted mattress pat. Papyrus takes the invitation and sits down beside you, slumping onto the bed with a huff.

“I Don’t…I Don’t Understand This,” he says. “You… You Love Sans, Don’t You?”

Well, that’s an easy question.

“Of course I do,” you answer without hesitation. “I’m, like… _super_ in love with Sans.”

“And You………Love Me, Too…?”

You snort in amusement. “Well, _duh_ , Pap.”

Your tone seems to give him pause…and something like a revelation.

“Ah,” he says at length. “I Get It. It Isn’t… You…Love Me _As A Friend_. And A Brother-In-Law.”

Papyrus actually sounds disappointed and it bolsters you to take the next step.

“Stars, Papyrus, of course I love you as those things, but… I think we both know it’s not _just_ that? With us?”

His silence is nothing less than utterly suspicious.

So you press on.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes, Pap.” He flinches guiltily and you’re quick to reassure him, “I like it! It makes me feel like… I don’t know, like there could… _be_ something here, if you wanted to…explore that?”

Your words only seem to confuse him again. “So You Want To… What, Date Me?”

“Do we _have_ to put a label on it?” you wonder. “I mean…you love me, right?”

Denim blue starts to glow all along Papyrus’ skull.

“I! Well, That’s! Something Of A Strong… Uh, Not That I Don’t! I… I’m… Obviously, I………”

His rushed and flustered words trail off and you let them.

That jumbled mess of a sentence may not have said anything, but at the same time, you’re…pretty sure it said _everything._

You smile, just a pinch teasingly, and say, “And…you’d love me whether anything actually _happened_ with us or not…right?”

On that one, Papyrus doesn’t waver for even second.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Of Course.”

Your grin widens.

“I feel the same.”

Papyrus looks at you like… well, like he isn’t sure he believes you, like it can’t _possibly_ be that simple…

But it is.

“Papyrus, aside from Sans,” you explain, “you’re my absolute _best_ friend. We have fun together and…and I really care about you and honestly, the last time I felt like this about somebody, it was just a few weeks out from the first time I kissed my _husbone._ ”

Papyrus makes a face at the terrible pun, just like you knew he would, and you laugh.

The slightly-betrayed disgust on his skull is a _much_ better look for him than anxious uncertainty.

“Pap,” you say seriously, “it is…totally okay if this is too weird for you and you’d feel better just forgetting about this whole thing. You’ll still be my friend and the best brother-in-law a human could ever have, that won’t change— ever.”

You reach out, settling your hand on the bed between you. You don’t touch him, not yet, but you feel like he should see you offering; putting yourself out there first.

“But…if you want to give this a try… maybe turn our dog-dates into…y’know, _actual_ dates, see if romance is a thing that works, for us… Then, I’m here.”

You’re not psychic.

You have no idea what must be going through Papyrus’ skull right now as he stares down at you, looking stunned.

But if you _could_ read minds, you might be knocked flat by the force of his awe.

Papyrus is _marveling_ at you, honestly dumbstruck.

He thinks that the human heart is truly an incredible thing— it’s a small muscle, weighing less than a pound, and yet it pumps two thousand gallons of blood a day, beats seven-hundred thousand times a week, and in just a few short years…

It can come to hold enough love for _two_ skeletons who’ve been through hell and come out the other side.

But you’re not psychic.

So all you see is a kind of determination coming over Papyrus’ face and then he’s reaching out, ever so slowly settling his hand atop yours.

It’s huge, dwarfing your fingers entirely when your turn your hand over so you can properly hold it. His bones are spindly; smooth and cool to the touch, like pearl or marble.

You like the feeling against the skin of your palm so you squeeze his hand, chancing a look up at him.

Papyrus still looks a touch nervous, as if he’s not sure that this is something he’s really, truly allowed to do.

You can fix that.

With your other hand, you reach up, fingertips grazing the side of his jaw.

“Papy…can I kiss you? Would that be okay?”

The blue returns to his cheeks and he swallows audibly. You’re _still_ not sure how that works without a throat, but you’re pretty used to physics-and-reality-defying skeletons by now, so when he nods, you don’t ask any more questions.

You pull him down at the same time you lean up and gently, carefully press your lips to his teeth.

He’s…still, at first, stiff against you in probably the most one-sided kiss you’ve ever been a part of…but it doesn’t last.

After a moment, Papyrus nuzzles at you, just a little bit, and you find yourself smiling against his mouth.

You angle your head and keep peppering itty-bitty smooches along his teeth and jaw and the more you give him, the more his hesitance starts fade.

Boldness suits Papyrus far better.

He squeezes your hand in his while the other comes up to wrap around your shoulder, holding you still so he can nuzzle you more firmly.

Not that you were going anywhere—you can feel the passion behind each warm, affectionate movement and it sparks a thrill in your chest.

It’s… it’s _good_ and nice and as much as you like it, you can’t quite believe it’s happening.

…And neither can Papyrus, apparently, because he abruptly jerks back from you.

His eye-sockets are wide behind his glasses and the two of you stare at each other for a moment, just…processing.

That happened.

You kissed.

The world is still in one piece and you…

You don’t regret it.

You don’t think Papyrus does, either, but you get the sense that it was just a _bit_ too fast, for right now; that he might still need a little time to get used to the idea of…this.

And that’s fine, too.

You smile with just a hint of flirtiness. “Not bad for your first kiss, huh?”

His brother may be the comedian, but you know damn well that Papyrus knows a set-up for a line when he hears one and he doesn’t disappoint.

He smirks at you and says, “What On Earth Makes You Think That Was My First Kiss?”

It’s suave and over-the-top and probably a lot bolder than Papyrus actually feels right now, but it makes you laugh, anyway.

You have no idea, but the sound makes Papyrus’ soul _sing_ and he understands now, intimately, how Sans must’ve fallen in love with you.

You make everything seem so _easy._

-

You keep it easy, too, when the very next thing you do is get up and tug Papyrus along with you by the hand.

You tell him that it smells like dinner’s about ready and that the two of you should probably go check on Sans and see if he needs any help setting the table.

Papyrus recognizes it for exactly what it is— _sort of_ an out, but without denying the thing that the two of you just started, and he’s grateful for it.

It’s funny, in a way, but Papyrus never really understood the concept of ‘going slow’ before, at anything.

Why wait when you know what you want to do? Why drag your feet when you know your feelings? What _point_ is there in hesitating?

But _this_ …this just feels like the kind of thing where slow is… good.

And for once, Papyrus feels like he’s okay with that.

Sans doesn’t seem to need any help when the two of you reach the dining room, three plates already out and Buddy’s bowl in hand to join them.

It’s a struggle for Papyrus not to pull his hand out of yours when Sans looks up, as if you were doing something you weren’t supposed to.

But when his brother’s eye-light falls on your joined hands, the expression that comes across his face is a smile.

There’s no other way to describe it except ‘ _beaming_.’

Echoing you, Sans asks, “you talked?”

From Papyrus’ side, you chime, “Yep! All good,” and somehow, Sans manages to look happier.

You only let go of Papyrus’ hand to go over and give Sans an adorably saccharine kiss and as the three of you (and your dog) sit down together for dinner, Papyrus is struck by how utterly… _normal_ it all is.

The casserole is normal, the same thing they have every Thursday night. Buddy finishes his kibble much faster than everyone else eats and passes the time staring beseechingly at all the other plates, like he always does. You and Sans are even telling terrible, lazy, cliché jokes trying to make Papyrus either laugh or scowl, whichever comes first, and that’s par for the course.

And Papyrus is sparing glances at you, thinking about how wonderful you are…and that’s…normal, too.

It’s normal and it’s _okay._

“…Papyrus?” you seem to say suddenly, looking a tad concerned. “You _really_ don’t have anything to say about that?”

You must’ve said a particularly horrific pun that Papyrus hadn’t heard.

Feeling bold, though, he shrugs. “I’m Sorry, Sunshine, I Wasn’t Listening, I Was Too Busy Getting Lost In Your Eyes.”

Your brows shoot up, color creeping across your cheeks as your gorgeous eyes go wide. You can’t seem to think of anything to say in response, too flustered for a witty retort and Papyrus feels his soul swell with pride.

He’s even prouder when Sans laughs, loud and genuine, and pokes at you a little.

“Pap’s right, ya’ know,” he coos at you. “ _eye_ really _see_ what he means.”

“If You’re Going To Turn My Flirtatious Comments Into Puns,” Papyrus retorts, “You Could At Least Be A Little More Creative About It! I Swear, Sans, Your Jokes Are Getting _Cornea_ By The Day!”

Your mouth drops open in surprise that Papyrus _actually busted out a pun_ , but there’s a happy sparkle in your gaze and not even Sans’ imminent, lazy pun-recycling can ruin that for him.

“…heheheheheh, oh my god… oh my god, i’m so proud right now, Pap, you’re…you’re really a man after _eye_ own heart…!”

Papyrus gives you and Sans his most put upon expression. “ _Iris_ k My Dignity Any Day To Make Our Human Smile, Sans! I Shouldn’t Have To Tell You How _Blind_ ingly Beautiful They Are When They Do.”

Sans’ grin widens.

“nah, that goes without sayin’,” he says and your flush deepens.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, sounding almost dismayed. “Is this my life now? Are you guys just gonna flirt at me for the rest of forever and try to make me blush?”

Papyrus and Sans share a considering look across the table, and their answer comes in unison.

“yeah, pretty much.”

“Probably, Yes!”

You cover your face a bit, but you’re laughing as you dramatically groan, “What have I done…” and Papyrus feels…

Pretty damn good!

Janine is going to be _insufferably_ smug next week, but he’s really _not_ the worst brother in the world, after all.

Papyrus is just a normal skeleton with a great job, a handsome dog, a lazy brother, and an adorable human—and he loves it _all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this canon to FGTC? Only if you want it to be! 
> 
> Maybe Sans is your one and only true love and that's fine but for all the Papyrus-smoochers out there disappointed that they didn't get to romance both brothers...
> 
> Now, you do! ;3


	6. PERSEVERANCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough road. It hasn't been easy to make it this far. ...But he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Sans mulls it over for a long, long…… _long_ time.

It’s not the kind of thing you rush into, lots of factors to be considered, and honestly, he’s…a little nervous about what you’ll say.

But eventually, he builds up the courage to ask.

One night while you’re cuddled up beside him in bed, he gently nudges you and just blurts it out.

“i want a cat.”

Sans isn’t quite sure what he expects you to say, but you manage to surprise him anyway.

“Yeah? Okay, a cat sounds nice.”

“……really?”

It feels like it shouldn’t be so easy.

He feels like you should be…rolling your eyes at him, pointing out that you already _have_ a pet, he doesn’t _need_ another one.

(Sans never thinks that he had a _bad_ dad, but it’s moments like these, when he’s _surprised_ to be so quickly, unquestioningly supported that he realizes he probably didn’t… have a very _good_ one, either.)

You make half a shrugging gesture and wriggle a little closer beneath his arm.

“Sure,” you say. “I mean, we probably want to be careful about personality, don’t want Buddy getting bullied _too_ bad, but… yeah, we should be able to handle a cat.”

“……”

Sans elects not to answer with words. He figures his silent gratitude is understood in the way you snicker at his affectionate nuzzling.

“Got your eye on anybody in particular, or…?”

At that, it’s Sans’ turn to shrug.

“i’ll let ya’ know,” he says, and that’s the end of that discussion.

Sans is excited already.

-

You actually have no part in picking out the cat.

You’re out walking a new dog and Sans is in the cat room, cleaning out litterboxes and it just sort of happens.

Just like in the movies, practically in slow motion, he looks up and meets eyes with… _her._

‘She’s a fine specimen of feline’…is something that would probably _not_ be said about her very often.

She’s a little weird-looking, with a thin, sparse coat instead of a fluffy one and gigantic ears that don’t really fit her head and when she sees Sans looking at her, she _screams_ at the top of her lungs—which is pretty damn loud, because those big bat-ears of hers don’t work and she has no concept of volume control.

Her loudness is actually what got her the affectionate name of…

………

Well, Sans can’t remember it now, but he thinks it was probably appropriate, whatever it was.

He also thinks that this cat has been here a pretty long time already, with no one willing to give her a chance.

And he knows instantly that she’s The One.

He feels it urgently enough that he finishes his task and then goes straight to her, scooping her up and carrying her into the lobby.

She sniffs and tries to bite the pen he uses to hastily scrawl his name on the adoption form, but then is perfectly mild-mannered as he pays the fee and probably spooks the receptionist by shortcutting home with his new cat.

Sans sets her down in the middle of the living room. Even knowing she can’t hear it, he still says, “go on, check out your new digs,” and slowly, cautiously, she does.

She looks around, taking a sniff of the carpet, the coffee table, the leg of the couch, and it _seems_ to pass muster.

The real challenge is when Buddy’s head pokes out of the kitchen door, investigating the noise of somebody home so early in the day.

Sans watches them carefully as the two catch sight of each other for the first time.

He surprises himself with how much animal body language he’s picked up over the years and how well he understands what’s happening now.

Buddy’s ears are back, but his tail is slowly wagging as he comes on in—a little wary, but mostly curious.

The cat’s tail is straight out behind her, a little low, but not fluffed—not quite sure of what’s happening, but not scared, either.

Buddy approaches and when he’s finally close enough, he…sniffs her.

She sniffs him back and summarily decides he is a boring dog, like all the other ones she’s seen at the shelter, and ambles away to explore much more interesting things.

She’s not followed because Buddy goes straight to Sans instead, snuffling at his slippers in greeting of his skeleton-dad.

Sans grins so wide it makes his skull ache.

“good boy, buddy,” he assures him, giving him a real good scritch behind the ear.

No instantly flying fur and claws was a _fantastic_ sign and he makes sure to give his little pal a cookie for being cool before tracking down his littler pal on her tour around her new home-to-be.

-

Sans can’t quite say it’s _all_ smooth sailing.

Actually, aside from the meeting with Buddy, there’s not much smooth about her introduction into the house at all.

She knocks over three cereal boxes and a half-empty bag of coffee trying to jump on top of the fridge. She finds the laundry room and spends a good few minutes yelling at the washer and looking between it and Sans as if expecting him to explain himself for it. He picks her up and shows her the upstairs instead and she gets so excited about the new territory that she starts to rocket back and forth with the kind of Unique Cat Energy that usually only comes out at three in the morning, and…

Well, by the end of that, at least Sans has a pretty good name for her.

He asks if she likes it, but she just hops up onto his lap and starts kneading little cat-claw-sized holes in his already hole-ridden hoodie.

“you’re such a weird goof,” he mutters down at her. “you’re gonna do great here.”

She keeps on kneading and squints at him, the way you always say he does when he’s happy.

Sans doesn’t think he’s _capable_ of making a face as cute as hers, but he guesses love can make even the ugliest of monsters seem cute.

And speaking of love, you’re walking in through the front door, smiling brightly at the sight that greets your eyes.

“ _Here_ you are,” you say, with a cute little smirk, and…

Oh.

Did Sans text you he was leaving, or did he just sorta…ditch you?

“……sorry,” he says sheepishly, attempting to cover his bases, but you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “I figured something pretty important must’ve been up and it wasn’t too hard to figure out what when my husband and our resident noisemaker both disappeared at the same time.”

You come right up to Sans and the cat, unable to stop your grin as she cranes her head directly backwards to look at you.

She seems happy to see you and the feeling is mutual. You gently harass her, flicking her ears and letting her chew your finger a bit.

“How’s Banshee like the place, anyway?” you wonder.

 _Banshee,_ that was it!

But Sans doesn’t have to worry about forgetting that again.

“ _slinky_ likes it just fine,” he assures you. “already buddied up with buddy, even.”

You smile, but also… you know him _entirely_ too well.

“She got that name for a reason, didn’t she?”

Sans shrugs, but he’s already grinning, anticipating your question.

You sigh. “Alright, alright, let’s hear it—why ‘Slinky’?”

“wasn’t lookin’ where she was goin’ an’ cartwheeled down the stairs.”

“Pfft! Hahahahaha, _Sans_ …!” You scoops Slinky up and hold her to your chest, as if protecting her from him. “That’s so _mean!_ ”

“heheheheh, you’re laughin’,” he gleefully points out. “‘sides, it ain’t like she’s gonna come when we call. could name her ‘fartface’ if we wanted to.”

“Let’s…stick with ‘Slinky’ for now.”

“yeah, you’re right. ‘fartface’ is more of a _middle_ name.”

Sans knows the punch-line hit you unexpectedly when you snort trying to hold back a wheeze and his soul feels fit to burst with pride.

You may not be the _biggest_ audience he’s ever performed for, but you’re definitely one of the _best._

And you’re hands down his absolute _favorite._

-

Sans doesn’t miss his guess about Slinky: she’s a _great_ fit for your home.

She…causes some collateral damage around the house from time to time—which Papyrus doesn’t particularly love—but she more than makes up for it by being the sweetest cat you could ever imagine.

One of her favorite things to do is just sit on top of people and purr. She does it to everyone in the house at some point or another, but she seeks out Sans’ lap the most and it’s…nice.

It’s _especially_ nice for those times when you and Pap are at work and Sans is home, dissociating so hard that not even Buddy’s head resting on his feet is enough to bring him back around.

Lately, Sans has been coming back to himself with a dog at his feet _and_ a vibrating cat-loaf in his lap, or just a little more rarely, some loud, insistent screaming and gentle paws bapping at his skull because it’s lunch-time and _Queen Slinky has not been fed yet,_ the horror!

You make for a much _kinder_ nursemaid than the cat, but… Sans thinks Slinky does a pretty good job, too.

At least good enough to earn her an extra treat or two on top of her meals, just because.

Slinky loops around your feet and yells excitedly when you get home, _barely_ bullies Buddy, and as much as Papyrus gives her the side-eye-socket and refers to her exclusively as, “The Menace,” he always seeks her out and plops her onto his lap while he’s watching those soap operas he loves so much, and that’s more telling than anything else.

Sans is really glad he brought her home.

He feels like he made a good decision.

It’s a rare feeling, for him. It’s often felt like most of his decisions…weren’t entirely his own. Or weren’t decisions at all, just things he _had_ to do.

But he didn’t _have_ to get this cat: nobody _told_ him to do it, nobody _needed_ him to do it, nothing _bad_ would have happened if he hadn’t done it.

…But life feels just a little bit nicer because he did and that’s…good.

Really good.

-

Slinky’s most hated enemy in the entire world is definitely the washing machine.

Something about the look or smell of it had already put it afoul of her, but then she had discovered something far more sinister about it.

Sometimes…one of you turned it _on._

She certainly couldn’t hear it but she must’ve been able to feel its vibrations or something because her indignant, offended yelling could not be _stopped_ on Laundry Day, The Most Awful of All Days.

Sans is recording this one.

“…aaan’ we’re live at the scene of the most _claw_ ful travesty catkind has ever seen—the washing machine is _running._ we go to our correspondent, slinky, for more. slinky?”

Slinky looks right at the camera of Sans’ phone. “MYAAAAAAAAAH!”

“harrowing. now, do ya’ think there is even the slightest _paw_ ssibility that you’re blowing this out of proportion?”

“MRRRRRAAAAAA!”

“i see. and ya’ can’t think of any way to put a better _spin_ on this?”

“MRRRRRRRR.”

“well, far be it from me to tell ya’ what you should be _feline_ in the midst of this _cat_ astrophe.”

Sans angles his phone towards the washing machine and the clothes and soap swirling around inside.

“yeeeep, me an’ slink are havin’ _loads_ of fun here. might have to spring for another cycle just to keep it goin’.”

As if Slinky could understand him—or even _hear_ him—she yells again and it almost sounds like the word ‘no.’

He loves this freakin’ cat.

“heheheh, c’mon, slink, get a sense of humor, m’only _kitten._ ”

Slinky bats at the glass door of the washing machine, utterly humorless and very loud (as usual).

Sans sighs.

“guess not everybody appreciates the _clean_ humor. maybe i gotta start workin’ blue?”

He stops the recording before he can laugh too hard at his own joke and texts the video straight to you.

He doesn’t expect a quick response, and he doesn’t get one.

You’re out—not at work, but at some sorta training class with Buddy. Sans thinks it’s to do with service dog stuff, something about ‘he’s gonna _earn_ that damn vest’, and while Buddy’s certainly smart enough for it, he doesn’t totally see the point in it himself.

It’s important to you and your Justice soul, though, and that’s all that really matters to Sans, in the end, so whatever classes you want to take with your son is fine by him.

The (horrible, evil, no good) laundry is finished by the time Sans gets an answer.

 **You:** LOL, baby, you gotta post that one!

………post it?

 **PUNbelievable:** what, like…online?

 **You:** Yeah, it’s really funny!

Sans is…honestly a little thrown by the suggestion.

He never thought of doing _that_ before.

He wonders…if you’re just saying something nice, or if you really think he should do it.

And even if you do…you’re probably the most biased person he could ask.

You _love_ him, of _course_ you think his goofy cat puns and laundry jokes are funny.

He spares a glance at Slinky, already happily loafed and furring up the clean, folded sweatpants at the top of the laundry pile.

She’s the _real_ star of that video, isn’t she?

Eventually, he settles on a response to you.

 **PUNbelievable:** i’ll take another one next laundry day with just slink in it, give the people what they really want.

A weird, screaming cat seemed more like something people on the internet would _actually_ wanna see, without his half-baked puns ~~ruining~~ interrupting it.

But you insist.

 **You:** No, it’s perfect, funnybones, just post it!!!

Three exclamation points—you really _must_ mean it.

Sans still hesitates.

He spends a couple days mulling it over, resisting the urge to just ‘accidentally’ delete the video from his phone so he’d have an excuse not to do anything with it, but in the end…

In the end, Sans thinks that as biased as you are, he probably trusts _your_ opinion more than his own when it comes to…himself.

And if you think it’s funny, then somebody else out there probably will, too. Even just _one_ more smile out there in the world is something Sans has trouble saying ‘no’ to.

He posts the video.

And the comments _flood_ in.

Most of them are exactly what Sans expected:

_Not to be dramatic, but I would die for this loud goblin_

 

_lol what’s with the ears? Is she gonna grow into that?_

 

_why she screm at own laundry_

But there’s also…

There’s a _lot_ more comments than he’d thought that are…

That are…

  _You’re pretty funny, dude, cute cat!_

 

_The commentary really makes the video, I love this guy already_

 

_hOW MANY PUNS DO YOU HAVE?! WHEN WILL GOD SILENCE YOUR SINFUL TONGUE_

 ……Sans actually screenshots that last one, just to save.

But he finds himself coming back to the post every couple of hours, reading new comments and old ones, trying (and mostly failing) to remember if the number of likes had gone up since the last time he looked.

It makes him feel… a very familiar feeling.

It’s just a flash, but it feels the same as when he used to be able to do standup; when his skull was whole and he could retain a whole set, beat for beat, without getting mixed up somewhere or forgetting an hour in if he already did that joke or not.

All he did was post a little video, but looking at all these likes and comments makes him realize what’s actually happening here: that there’s real, actual people out there, _hundreds_ of them, and they’re all looking at this clip with his weird cat and his silly puns and they’re smiling. They’re laughing, they’re having a good time and it’s…

It’s because of Sans.

 _He_ did that.

A thought slowly creeps its way into his skull.

That video wasn’t even five minutes long.

Sans’ short-term memory sucks, but even _he_ can keep himself on track for _five minutes._

It’s been a long time since Sans has felt this openly, unrestrainedly hopeful. The last thing that made him feel like this was… _is_ you, the love of his life, and getting to feel so passionate about something again—after so long without it—is exciting beyond the telling of it.

The next time he’s home alone with Slinky, he pokes her belly, waking her up from a nap.

She yells at him, but he pays it no mind.

“hey, slink. ya’ ready to take the stage again?”

Because Sans thinks…that _he_ is.

-

The next video he takes is of Slinky on her back and trying to rabbit-kick a cat-toy that she’s _way_ too long for.

His punning game is cranked up to eleven and without anyone’s encouragement necessary, he goes right ahead and posts it.

The likes and comments come in a flood and most of them are still about the cat, but Sans doesn’t think he minds playing second fiddle to a feline with as much star-power as Slinky’s got.

He spends a long time reading over the stuff people have to say about him and his cat and almost every single one gives him that same amazing thrill of validation.

But his favorite is still the one you left on it.

_LOL, what a goober. Like father like daughter! ;3_

Sans looks at those words and the cute little emoticon and all he can think about is how _amazing_ it is that he has all this; that he’s still _around_ to have all this.

He’s alive and thriving, with a nice house and plenty of food in it for him, his brother, his human, _and_ two pets. He has a family that loves him, he’s (more or less) stable, and now, he has a brand new hobby that’s giving him feelings he thought he’d never get to experience again.

Things are _good._ He’s okay, and _more_ than that, he’s…

Keys jingle from behind the front door and Sans knows that it’s you.

The second you’re through the door, he’s on you—sweeping you up into his arms and nuzzling the living daylights out of you.

You laugh, one of Sans’ favorite sounds in the world.

“Sans, what the hell,” you giggle in between smooching him back, but Sans just shakes his head.

“no reason,” is what he says, because there really isn’t one.

He’s just _happy._

Maybe that’s reason enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans, allowed to do things for himself? Getting to have things he enjoys, after years of getting pushed into stuff and barred from his own happiness?
> 
> It's more likely than you think. ;3


	7. PATIENCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another life, in another dream...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none, this chapter is not _strictly_ canon

“…AND OBVIOUSLY, BRANDY WAS _DEVASTATED_ , IT WAS HER FAVORITE ONE! I SWEAR, SHE ALMOST HAD A MELTDOWN THEN AND THERE, BUT SAPPHIRE AND I……… SANS!”

Sans jolts, his skull whipping away from the window. He tries to look like he _wasn’t_ aimlessly cloud-gazing and…probably isn’t very successful. “yeah, Pap?”

“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?”

Sans scoffs as if the very thought is ridiculous. “yeah. ‘course.”

Papyrus gives him A Look over the kitchen counter. “OH, REALLY?” he asks. “THEN WHAT WAS I JUST TALKING ABOUT?”

“………”

Sans has no idea.

And guiltily, he realizes that Papyrus _definitely_ doesn’t even look surprised.

“THAT’S HOW I KNOW IT’S SERIOUS,” he says, almost to himself. “NO JOKES. NOT EVEN A PUN!”

Aw, hell.

Sans forces a grin, shooting a cheeky wink Pap’s way. “hey now, if all ya’ wanted was to hear a _pun_ ch-line, i can—”

“NO, SANS, IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT, NOW. YOU’RE ALL OUT OF SORTS, WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU?”

“…” Maybe it _wasn’t_ too late? “nothin’, i’m just _sort_ a hungry. what’cha makin’?”

No dice—Papyrus raises his browbones emphatically, like Sans had just proved his point.

“I DON’T KNOW, SANS,” he says with impressive sarcasm. “I SEEM TO BE SHAPING SOME _MEAT_ HERE. IT LOOKS SOMEWHAT LIKE A _LOAF._ I WONDER IF THERE’S A _NAME_ FOR SUCH A DISH, THAT I’VE BEEN STANDING HERE MAKING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU FOR _TWENTY MINUTES._ ”

_…damn it._

Sans sighs.

“alright, ya’ got me,” he reluctantly admits. “i’m…m’just a little…tired, i guess… seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“…YOU’RE REALLY GOING TO MAKE _ME_ BRING IT UP, AREN’T YOU.”

“bring what up?”

“THAT YOU’VE BEEN ‘TIRED’ FOR MONTHS?” Papyrus wonders rhetorically. “THAT YOUR ‘NAPS’ ARE GETTING RIDICULOUS, EVEN FOR YOU? THAT THERE MIGHT BE A VERY SERIOUS THING HAPPENING HERE THAT STARTS WITH A ‘D’?”

“…phew. okay, that’s some real heavy stuff, bro, but i mean… if you really think i gotta get laid _that_ bad…”

“YOU DO—………UGH! VULGAR!” Papyrus throws his hands up in frustration. “YOU ARE VULGAR AND THE D-WORD IS _DEPRESSION_ , SANS, I’M WORRIED YOU’RE DEPRESSED!”

If Sans had a stomach, he thinks it’d have dropped at those words.

Or maybe twisted up in a knot. A real fancy, complicated one, too.

His discomfort must show on his skull—he really _is_ losing it lately—because his brother sags a little, looking apologetic.

“I KNOW,” he says, “I KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE _LAST_ THING YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT, AND THAT’S…FINE.”

It sounds a little like it physically _hurts_ him to say that.

Naturally, Sans is wary.

“…is it?”

“YES,” Papyrus assures through gritted teeth. “BUT! IF YOU DON’T WANT TO TALK! YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!”

Sans feels a spark of emotion in his soul.

It’s faint, only a flicker, but after months of the alternative, _any_ feeling seems welcome.

Even irritation.

“yeah, sure thing,” he quips. “i’ll just cheer up real quick, problem solved.”

“THAT’S…!” A quiet huff of breath. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT…”

…Yeah.

Yeah, Sans knows that.

As always, Papyrus is just…trying to help his lazy slob of a brother.

And Sans is…being a total dick to him for no reason.

_**damn** it._

“sorry, Pap…”

“DON’T APOLOGIZE. IT’S FINE.”

Of course it is. It _always_ is, isn’t it?

Even when it’s not.

Sans just…doesn’t have it in him to argue.

“what……what is it i’m supposed to ‘do’?” he asks, trying to act like he cares.

“ANYTHING?” Papyrus tries weakly. “I… WE’RE ON THE SURFACE, SANS! THE THING OUR ENTIRE SPECIES HAS BEEN WISHING FOR, FOR…EVER!”

“yeah. s’great.”

“NOT FOR YOU,” Papyrus frowns. “AND I…I DON’T KNOW _WHY_ IT’S NOT GREAT FOR YOU.”

Sans wished he had the words to explain; the _drive_ to explain.

(How can he be happy when there’s an inexplicable anomaly out there, randomly altering the time stream? How can he care about anything when he doesn’t know if—or more accurately, _when_ —this timeline is going to end? Since the data’s already shown that exact thing happening, happened, going to happen again, over and over and over and over…)

(He can’t trust this. He can’t trust anything. He just wants…)

But he doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have the drive.

And he definitely doesn’t have the _hope_ his brother has.

So Sans just stares at the kitchen counter and doesn’t say anything.

“BUT…I DON’T _NEED_ TO KNOW WHY.”

…Sans looks up.

“ALL I NEED TO DO…IS BE HERE! AND TO REMIND YOU I’M HERE AND THAT… _WE’RE_ HERE, _UP_ HERE, AFTER SO _STUPIDLY_ LONG, AND ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE! SO YOU HAVE TO GO _DO_ SOMETHING!” An enviable note of steely determination enters Papyrus’ voice as he continues, “PICK UP A NEW HOBBY, FIND A THERAPY GROUP, GET AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMAL, I DON’T CARE, JUST…SOMETHING!”

He softens just a little, adding, “I HATE WATCHING YOU JUST…GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS, SANS. I…I NEED YOU TO _TRY._ ”

And that…

Stars above, that’s what breaks him.

Sans slumps, defeated. He finds he…can’t quite look Papyrus in the eye-socket so he turns to the window again.

The sky is blue and the clouds are fluffy and it’s…

However temporary, it _is_ beautiful.

“alright,” he says. “i’ll…i’ll try…. somethin’.”

Sans must mean it because Papyrus looks relieved.

But more importantly, he lets the topic go and gets back to talking about the girls at his work.

And Sans can pretend for awhile that he _didn’t_ just make a monumentally stupid promise.

Again.

He really _hates_ it when he does that.

-

So…a hobby.

That sounds _alarmingly_ like work and Sans has no idea where he’d even start.

Picking an entirely new skill to learn would probably require him to have an _opinion_ and make a _choice_ , and his only investment in…anything…right now is that his bro is a master at puppy-dog eye-sockets and Sans can’t _not_ do the bare minimum to appease him.

Hobby’s out.

Therapy group sounds a little easier—go sit in a circle with a bunch of other sad-sacks and just talk about whatever, right…? —but in practice, maybe not.

Sans doesn’t think therapy groups _exist_ for the shit he’s wrestling with…or maybe he’s just not looking in the right places?

‘TEMPORAL SHENANIGANS RUINING YOUR LIFE – OPEN TO IDIOTS, CRAZIES, AND GENUINE DELUSIONALS ALIKE! WEDNESDAY EVENINGS FROM 6 TO 7 IN THE LIBRARY MEETING AREA. BRING YOUR OWN TINFOIL HATS!’

Sans snorts at the thought and it’s the closest he’s come to a real laugh in longer than he cares to admit.

~~Papyrus is right, this is bad, even for him.~~

But self-help group is definitely out, too.

Which pretty much just leaves ‘emotional support animal’ on the table, lest Sans actually have to come up with an idea of his own, and pfft.

He gives the matter some thought and comes to a very profound conclusion.

When it comes right down to it…aren’t _all_ animals emotional support animals?

Sans thinks he likes that logic.

No need to see any professionals or be diagnosed as something, or have to research trainers and qualifications and whatever other rigamarole might be involved in this The Official Way.

Regular ol’ animal shelters are a dime a dozen. He can picture at least five of the damn things scattered all around town, all equally easy to shortcut to, pick something out, go home and be done with it.

In the end, the one he decides on is entirely thoughtless. It’s a little place, one he thinks he probably spotted from the nearby park he dropped Tori and Frisk off at sometimes.

Just as good a place as any to get a pet from, he figures.

Sans shoves his hands in his pockets and strolls on in.

It’s…a ghost town.

The lobby is empty, just a bunch of visitor chairs without anybody in ‘em. It’s quiet, almost dead-silent, and if it weren’t for the distant sound of barking, he might’ve thought the place was actually abandoned.

There’s a front desk, too, with some pens and business cards, but nobody manning it. Sans cranes his neck a little and thinks he can _almost_ see a blur of somebody disappearing into the back.

 _lunch break,_ he guesses. _just my luck._

He sighs, surprising himself with a stab of annoyed frustration, and starts to turn on his heel.

Out of the corner of his eye-socket, he sees another motion blur—somebody striding purposefully past a doorway. It makes him pause long enough for the blur to double back and suddenly, he’s meeting eyes with…

You.

…Probably the _roughest_ -looking human Sans has seen up here so far.

“Oh, hi!” you say, introducing yourself in a perfectly cheerful voice. “Can I help you with anything?”

But Sans isn’t fooled.

Not with your _real_ feelings written all over your face.

Bags under your eyes, a tense edge to your grin, and a general vibe that just _screams_ frazzled…

You’re busy. You have a lot of really important stuff to do right now and the _last_ thing you want is to be detouring to help this grubby-looking skeleton that just wandered into your shelter.

_welp. too bad._

“name’s sans,” he says, extending his hand. “sans the skeleton.”

You courteously reach out in return.

Sans watches your hand intently. He can’t help but notice a mark on it, angry red and alarmingly fresh—a scar?—and it almost makes him reconsider what he’s about to do…

But hey, he’s at an animal shelter. They probably wouldn’t hire dangerous, street-brawling, knife-fighting maniacs to run the place, as tense and on-edge as you might look.

~~He probably doesn’t need to Check you.~~

Your hand grasps his and Sans’ favorite melody in the world rings out in the silence of the lobby.

PFFFTTHHHBBBFFFFFFFFTTTT…!

You freeze, your eyes going wide. Time almost seems to stand still in the moment you take to process what just happened, Sans waiting for your reaction to find out the type of person you are.

He sees shock flash on your face, some confusion and maybe just a _touch_ of embarrassment. And then…

_moment of truth…_

You laugh.

“Hahahaha, oh my god!” You pull back your hand to cover your mouth, like you could somehow hide the broad grin blooming across your face. “Is that a _whoopie cushion_?! I, haha, oh man, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those in real life!”

Sans smiles back and quicker than he has in weeks, he quips, “wow, you poor, deprived human… that’s a shame.”

You snicker and you look…a little lighter, when you’re laughing; softer and _leagues_ more approachable than you were just a minute ago.

Sans was _way_ off: you’re no scary, knife-fighting maniac, just a busy, stressed out human.

One with a _fantastic_ sense of humor, no less.

“well,” Sans drawls, pleasantly surprised, “i came here lookin’ to adopt, but it seems pretty _dead._ maybe it’s _me._ ”

Undead jokes—they _killed_ with humans every time, and you’re no exception, laughing even as you start to look a little sheepish.

“No, no, it’s…not just you,” you say apologetically. “We’re a little understaffed right now…”

Sans watches you glance over at the front desk, looking a little irritated, but you’re already smiling again when you turn back to him.

“But it’s great that you’re looking to adopt! Was there any kind of pet you had in mind, or…?”

Sans shrugs.

“was thinkin’ maybe a midsize. used is fine, but it’s gotta be good condition, probably somethin’ in a nice black or calico. classy, y’know?”

You’re already struggling not to laugh.

Sans winks at you, chuckling, “nah, m’joshin’ ya’, i don’t have anything in mind. any chance you could just show me around? see if anything tickles my _cat fancy_?”

“Pfft…! Yeah,” you say, “I think we can accommodate that! Come on back with me, I’ll show you some of our inmates.”

You lead the way and Sans follows after you.

The room you bring him to is lined wall-to-wall with cats—dozens of big eyes in fluffy little faces peering out at him—and stars above, they’re all so friggin’ _cute._

A grumpy-looking orange one yowls when it catches him looking at it and Sans scoffs.

“‘innocent,’” he says, rolling his eye-lights, “i bet. that’s what they all say. nice try, pal.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you spoke cat,” you reply, sounding delighted.

And of course, what else can Sans say to that except, “you _kitten_? m’fluent.”

Your smile is wide and amused and Sans can’t quite remember the last time he had such a good audience.

…Or the last time he _cared_ about having one.

“Feel free to check out the merchandise,” you invite with a playful sweep of your arm. “If you want to spring anybody for some playtime, just let me know.”

Sans dutifully surveys the room of future feline friends under your encouraging gaze.

There’s fat cats and skinny cats, fluffy cats and sleek cats, young ones and old ones all in a fuzzy rainbow of colors.

He talks to a couple, pokes at some ears and paws (and only gets bapped for his audacity once), scratches a chin or two…

But really…

Sans’ metaphorical heart isn’t in it.

Much as his mood’s improved since walking into this place, he’s…he’s still _really_ only here because of Papyrus.

And he doesn’t even feel up to lying about it.

“mmm, sorry to say nobody’s sticking out,” he admits to you with a half-hearted grimace. “y’see…m’kinda just lookin’ for my brother? so, uh…not a lotta strong feelings on this, y’know?”

…Or on much of anything else, for that matter.

Sans weighs the merits of throwing in a quick joke about being ‘dead on the _in_ side, too,’ but decides against it. You don’t seem like the type to appreciate a joke quite _that_ nihilist and there’s no point bringing down your nice mood.

He scratches at his cheek, forcefully injecting some humor into his tone to ask, “i don’t suppose you’d have any expert recommendations, huh?”

Sans isn’t expecting you to actually consider it, or the look of cautious hope that crosses your face.

“Is…is your brother a cat-person, too, or…would a dog be an option?”

“sure,” Sans decides after a moment. “Pap loves dogs.”

It wasn’t a _complete_ lie: it was really just the _one_ dog Papyrus hated, and if Sans managed to come home with an animal of similar temperament, then…

Maybe it’d serve his meddling brother right, trying to force Sans to take care of his mental health.

“Great!” you chirp, heading towards the door. “I think I’ve got just the guy. I’ll take you to the playroom and bring him out for you!”

Your enthusiasm is…odd.

Sans can’t quite put his phalange on _why_ yet, but in a weird way, it’s also kinda…catching.

He’ll give you one thing—he’s definitely intrigued, now.

In short order, you lead him to a big open room full of worn and colorful toys and disappear for a couple minutes.

When you return, you’re holding the leash of a scruffy mop of black and white with a smile almost as winning as yours.

“This is Oreo!” you proclaim as the dog all but trots up to Sans.

He’s a good-looking little fella, with ice-blue eyes and one ear at a jauntily crooked angle, and between his sprightly grin and his wagging tail Sans would bet dollars to donuts that he’s nothing less than a lovable goof.

A _perfect_ fit for their home.

Sans has to wonder for a second if you’d done a cold-read on him or if you were just that good at matchmaking after however long you’d worked at this place.

Sans grins, holding his hand out in invitation. “hey, oreo, what’s _cookie_ ’n?”

Oreo happily approaches…and _completely_ bypasses Sans’ hand, dropping his head to snuffle at his slippers instead.

“pfft… ya’ missed, pal.”

Your laughter rings out again. “Yeah,” you say, “he, uh…he just sorta does that? I think it’s how he says ‘hi’ to people.”

“ah,” Sans says, like you’ve explained everything, “language barrier. i don’t speak dog, just cat.”

Oreo eventually finishes his greeting ritual and Sans gives it another shot, reaching out to give the guy a pat on the head.

Oreo’s ears flick back and he ducks away.

Before he can even ask, you’re reaching out to hold the dog and awkwardly explaining, “Oh, that’s…he doesn’t…really like it when people touch his face, he… he kinda only lets _me_ do it so far, but it’s…he’s got a lot of other great petting-spots that he does like!”

……

You’re holding something back.

Sans can see it all over your face, plain as day: that reaction meant _something_ and you don’t want him to know what it is.

He didn’t get saddled with Judgeship ‘cause he was in the habit of letting people pull the wool over his eye-sockets. He’s paying _extra_ attention to you now, every inflection and micro-expression you give him.

You take a knee beside Oreo—making the two of you the same size—and start to scratch at the scruff of his shoulders.

“ _This_ is his favorite spot for scratching,” you say, quickly like you’re trying to get control of the conversation.

Your petting fluffs Oreo’s fur all up and gets his tail wagging again. He’s a cute dog but he looks even cuter when he’s smiling, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a dumb, happy pup.

Totally harmless.

“Now, we’re not totally sure what breed he is, but we think he has some hound-blood in there somewhere because he’s big on sniffing—but I don’t have to tell you that, obviously!”

You laugh a little, lightly, and Sans knows a fake when he hears one.

You keep talking, enumerating Oreo’s apparently many merits—smart, a fast learner, great at fetch, et cetera, et cetera—and it’s all just as suspicious as everything else, but what finally makes it click in Sans’ skull isn’t your words at all.

It’s the way you’re holding the dog.

You’re angling yourself ever so slightly away from Sans, gesturing with one hand like you’re trying to draw his attention to it while the other is tucked firmly out of sight.

You probably don’t even realize you’re doing it; pure guilty instinct giving you away.

Unfortunately for you, Sans still remembers the mark he saw on your hand before—the very _recent_ scar.

And Sans knows what you’re trying to hide.

“…and as far as noise goes, he’s usually pretty quiet, I guess he’s just not much of a barker—”

“i’m guessin’ his _bite_ might be a little worse…right?”

You freeze.

“I…how did…?”

You seem to give up on the question at the same time as you give up on your lie.

You crumple guiltily, pulling your hand in to your chest and stroking at the raw-looking mark.

“You’re…you’re right,” you admit reluctantly, “there was…an incident…but! It was just the one! Oreo’s a good boy, it wasn’t his fault! He was…” You look visibly distressed as you try to explain, “He was in _really_ bad shape when we got him in, he couldn’t even _see,_ it’s not like it was…on _purpose_ … He’s not bad, he’s just…just…”

Sans raises his browbones as you cut yourself off, your jaw shutting with a nearly-audible click. Your cheeks are coloring and your eyes are abruptly glued to the floor as you take a deep breath and let it out through your nose.

You think you’ve said too much.

“I’m sorry,” you say after that pause, “you’re completely right. That’s a definite drawback for a pet. You have every right to know the behavioral history of an animal that you’d be bringing into your home. I should’ve led with that.”

_…oh._

Sans… doesn’t think he likes this new tone in your voice?

Suddenly, he feels like he’s A Client Being Pacified, like you’ve physically stepped away from him in an attempt to be professional.

That stiff set of your shoulders is back, too, and your smile is gone—the work of his jokes already undone in just a few short words.

He _really_ doesn’t think he likes _that._

But you’re already looping Oreo’s lead around your hand, coaxing the dog up and around to leave with you.

“If you’ll wait here a little longer,” you say, “I can bring out a more…suitable candidate.”

It’s pure impulse.

Sans can’t explain it any other way except that watching you turn and walk away from him, looking like the epitome of defeat, makes him feel like…

Like he has to _do_ something.

Sans Checks you.

With a flare of his magic, his vision sharpens, extends beyond the moment and into a theoretical Encounter.

Across your back, he sees your name, your total lack of LV and EXP, and…

The brightest, most _beautiful_ Justice soul he’s ever seen.

It’s glowing, shining, _blazing_ like a miniature sun and Sans is stunned for a moment by how utterly gorgeous he finds it.

It’s only when he tears his eye-lights away from it, though, that he sees the words below your stats—the truth of your very soul in this one moment.

_*** Just wants everything to turn out okay.** _

………

_aw jeez… don’t we all…?_

“hey,” Sans calls, stopping you in your tracks, “wait a minute.”

You turn, confused, with Oreo paused at your heels.

“i, uh…i never said this lil _cream_ inal was a ‘no.’ bring ‘im back over here a sec, i didn’t even get a chance to meet the guy.”

His joke was lackluster at best. Terrible delivery, the kind of thing Papyrus would groan at him over and not even smile for.

…But _you_ look happy, and Sans is… pretty sure it had nothing to do with the pun.

~~He’s not used to making people happy when it’s not ‘cause of a joke. It’s nice.~~

Sans decides not to examine that thought and when Oreo bounces back over with you, he gets down onto the floor to meet him, eye-to-eye-socket.

Oreo’s whirlwind wagging tail is his only warning before he’s nearly knocked off balance by the sudden excited animal in his personal space.

Sans can’t help but laugh as a wet nose and tickly whiskers are rubbed all _over_ his skull, sniffing him within an inch of his life. He tries to gently shove the beast back a step and only gets a face-lick or two for his trouble.

Oh yeah…this guy was a lover, not a fighter.

Sans snickers when Oreo finally loses interest in his skull and starts nibbling the sleeve of his hoodie.

“hey, cujo,” he chides, “you’re all mixed up. s’the _bones_ you’re supposed to chew on, not the _sleeve_.” He turns to you, expectantly. “thought you said this guy was smart?”

“He’s…he’s doing his best,” you say.

You’re laughing again, looking even happier than you were before. It’s a good look on you.

…and it’s contagious.

Of all the real, genuine emotions Sans expected to feel anytime soon, happiness was the _last_ on his list.

“alright, how much?” he finds himself blurting out.

You look startled, so he continues.

“might as well take this guy off your hands for ya’,” he says, as casually as he can fake. “he seems like a decent enough pooch and, uh…i _really_ don’t wanna shop around. lotta work, y’know?”

“R…right! I hear you, it’s a total pain in the ass.” Your smile takes a turn for the tentative as you pose, “Or, I guess…a pain in the _coccyx_ for you…right?”

_…oh my god._

“snrk…that’d be a fair _ass_ umption,” he assures you and watches as you giggle almost helplessly in response.

You’re adorable. You’re _hilariously_ adorable and Sans feels like a king for being the one to get you to tell such a dumb skeleton joke.

If the frazzled look of you when he first walked in was any indication, you’re somebody who could really _use_ some more joking in their life.

Either way, Sans lets you hand him Oreo’s leash and follows you as you practically skip back up to the lobby with him to get the paperwork.

It’s still just the two of you there and as you start rummaging around at the front desk, Sans looks down into Oreo’s pale blue eyes.

He doesn’t know what the hell’s come over him.

He’s _never_ been this impulsive, this reckless, not in his whole _life_ : he’s adopting this…random dog and it’s probably fifty percent convenience, but the other fifty is because he knows it’ll make you happy.

You, some tired, stressed out human he _just met._

Sans tries to ask himself why he’s doing this, but the only thing even close to an answer that he comes up with is…

The way your soul gleamed when he Checked you.

Before yours, the only human soul he’d ever bothered to Check was Frisk’s, a bold and blaring red— _Determined_ —that spoke of strength and raw power, the equivalent of the entirety of monsterkind.

Sans thinks he never realized how much seeing it—a _child_ with a soul a million times more motivated and dedicated than he could _ever_ be—may have disheartened him.

What could he ever do against a soul that strong? How was he supposed to just…live…in a world _full_ of souls that strong? Capable of who knows what?

He never conclusively figured out the cause of the time anomalies. It could be anyone, any _thing_ ; monsters could _still_ end up back Underground at any time, no matter how many years they’d been up here, and if the thing that did it turned out to be as strong as Frisk…

_why even bother?_

But… _you._

You and _your_ soul…

You’re not Determined. You’re not oozing raw power, trying to be a hero and save the world.

You’re somebody who’s just…doing their best, trying to get by, wanting things to turn out okay.

_what a fuckin’ **mood.**_

Sans _gets_ that. He feels like he’d probably get _you,_ if the two of you ever had a real conversation, and it’s not like that’d make him feel better about Temporal Shenanigans, but…

He _wants_ to.

He actually kinda _wants_ to talk to you and get to know you—to figure out who you are beyond what he just Saw— and that’s an urge he hasn’t felt for _years._

That’s probably why, as he’s scrawling his name and number on the form you handed him, he looks up and asks you, “so where’s the section where you write _your_ number?”

You look at him with wide eyes. “My n……what, like…as a……as a dating thing, or…?”

As ~~cute~~ funny as your bashful expression is, that’s _way_ too fast, even for Weird Impulsive Sans.

“nah,” he chuckles gently, “i just figured you might wanna keep in touch. y’know, get updates on your son an’ stuff.”

That surprises a smile out of you. “Pfft, ‘my son’?” you echo. “Since when is Oreo my son?”

“uhh, since always?” Sans says, as if _you’re_ the weirdo. “ya’ don’t get to pick your family.”

You stare at him blankly. “You…literally just picked him? To be your family?”

Sans just waves you off. “hey, hey, hey now, let’s not bring logic into this.”

You laugh—that delightful sound that Sans has probably spent half his life chasing—and he must’ve really caught you off-guard with that one because somewhere in your laughter, you snort.

It’s an ugly sound and you look a little embarrassed to have made it, but Sans’ eye-lights contract, his soul thrumming with a new sort of energy.

_oh, hot **damn**._

“okay, uh…for the record, a date might not be… _totally_ out of the question.” Sans feels his magic flushing across his cheekbones and clears the throat he doesn’t have. “later. obviously. if, uh. if it works out that way. eheheheh, no…no need to rush stuff…right?”

He’s relieved when you smile, like you like the idea of that as much as he does.

“Right! Yeah, definitely!”

You spare a second to rustle around looking for some spare paper—Sans assumes to write your number on—but before you can find anything, the front door opens behind him with a little jingle.

Ah, well, you’re gonna need to pay attention to the new guy coming in. You’re still on the clock, after all, and Sans would hate to hold up somebody who was actually trying to get some work done.

“don’t worry about it,” he tells you, taking a step back. “ya’ got my number already: you text me if ya’ wanna.”

It takes you a second to process what he said, but then you’re agreeing, “Oh, right, yeah, if…if you’re sure!”

“ _paw_ sitive,” he winks. “i’m sure you wanted to hear more of my hilarious jokes, but don’t _terrier_ self up about it. m’feelin’ a lot of _pet_ ential here. text me whenever.”

And on the heels of your snickering, with naught but a pair of playful finger-guns, Sans leaves the shelter with his brand new dog.

-

He ends up taking the long way home.

It’s more walking, but Oreo gets the chance to soak up some sun and sniff some stuff, and nobody ever said he had to walk _fast._

The fluffy goofball has his nose crammed into a bush by the time Sans very flatly tells him, “ya’ don’t _look_ like an ‘oreo,’ buddy.”

The dog does not seem to care about his judgment in the slightest.

But…he _is_ Sans’ dog, now.

He doesn’t _have_ to be ‘Oreo.’

He’s not stuck at the shelter, he can……he can be anything. He can _do_ anything. The possibilities are actually…kinda endless.

~~Sans isn’t entirely sure he’s still thinking about the dog.~~

But when his phone buzzes just an hour or two later, with a message from a mystery number and your name in the text, he finds himself smiling at it.

 **me, from the shelter:** Hey, it’s me, from the shelter! How’s Oreo settling in?

 **sans:** [IMG-1]

 **sans:** he’s great, but i went ahead and renamed your son for ya, he doesn’t answer to oreo anymore. sorry, that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

 **me, from the shelter:** Haha okay, so who is he now, then?

 **sans:** same thing you are—my new Buddy. ;)

 **me, from the shelter:** LOL, it suits him, nice choice! :D

Looking at your little smiley face on his phone, Sans thinks that he actually feels…hopeful, somehow.

‘ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE,’ Pap had said and…maybe he wasn’t wrong?

It definitely feels true about you.

Maybe you _will_ end up just being Sans’ buddy, or maybe you’ll be something _more._ He certainly has no way of knowing and suddenly, that seems exciting instead of demotivational.

Either way…

He can’t _wait_ to drag you by Grillby’s sometime for a lunch break. If anybody could use some good food and bad laughs, it seems like it’d probably be you.

Sans wonders what your opinion is on grease…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon AU, post-pacifist ending: 
> 
> You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies but the work is hard and often gross, and you've been at it for years without much help from your coworkers. You've got a lot of love to give, but you're headed for a burnout and _fast!_
> 
> But maybe the weird, funny monster who just adopted your favorite dog can help you remember how to relax...or at least how to laugh again!
> 
> -
> 
> This is a purely hypothetical scenario--I don't consider it canon to FGTC-- but if you'd like to know your options for how to place this chapter:
> 
> Option 1: This is a What-If that never came to be.
> 
> Option 2: Frisk figured out how to RESET again and redid the pacifist route.
> 
> Option 3: This _is_ what happened on their first pacifist route and when they RESET to experiment with other endings, FGTC happened and they got stuck-- per Chapter 3 of this.
> 
> Option 4: This is a completely separate multiverse, happening concurrently with FGTC, and they _both_ exist!
> 
> I know my vote is for 1, with 4 a close second, but however you read this chapter, thanks for reading it! :D
> 
> -
> 
> [The Encounter](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/183380048748/mapleshmaple-its-four-in-the-morning-and-im) by mapleshmaple
> 
> [Possibilities](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/183397860428/so-uh-turns-out-im-hot-trash-for-sans-sorry) by sourcandiies

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [our future's pretty bleak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171006) by [aphwhales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphwhales/pseuds/aphwhales)




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